Soon the Moon Will Smoulder
by Citizen Chauvelin
Summary: Sequel to Falcon in the Dive. Percy has raised Lucian, the illigitimate son of Chauvelin, as his own child. But as the boy grows older, he learns about his real father and sets out on a vendetta against Percy. Read and Review!
1. Lucian

**Hello hello, friends! Look, I've started something new. Alright, here's what I've got for you. This is the sequel to my other story, Falcon in the Dive. If you haven't read that, I don't think you're going to get this at all, so I highly suggest that you go back and read that before reading this. Don't worry. I've been told that it's somewhat good. So, this is going to follow the life of Lucian Blakeney, the illigitimate son of Chauvelin that Percy so kindly raised. If you don't like anything that has to do with Chauvelin Marguerite romance of any sort, I suggest that you leave. Chauvelin's not actually in this one, but it's suggested. Anyway, this is shaping up to be quite the adventure. Hope you enjoy reading.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Scarlet Pimpernel. _HOWEVER!_ I _DO_ own Lucian, and the rest of the second generation. GO ME!**

**Soon the Moon Will Smoulder**

**Chapter 1: Lucian **

_Europe: 1801_

The Scarlet Pimpernel raced through the French countryside with the daughter of the now deceased King of France. They had lost the revolutionaries a little while back and they had nearly arrived at the ship that would take them to safety.

Yet something did not feel right to the Pimpernel. His sharp blue eyes darted around, searching desperately for the man he knew sat waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Just as he urged the girl into a hiding spot among some bushes at the side of the road, a figure clad in black wielding a sword jumped out of nowhere and tackled the Pimpernel to the ground.

The Pimpernel tried desperately to push the man off of him, but he was not nearly as strong as his attacker. Placing the blade of the weapon against his exposed throat, the man leaned in close an in a cold, even voice whispered, "Game over, Pimpernel."

"Boys! What in blazes are you doing?" Sir Percy Blakeney asked the small group of children who were running about the gardens of Blakeney Manor.

"Playing a game." the two boys on the ground responded simultaneously.

"Ah. I see. And what game was that again? And Lucian, do put that stick down."

"We were playing the Scarlet Pimpernel, father!" the boy on the ground responded as his brother got off of him and threw his stick to the ground.

Percy couldn't help grinning like an idiot. "Oh? And who were you, son?"

"I was the Pimpernel!" the child shouted triumphantly.

"Yes, and you thoroughly lost, Blake." his brother Lucian said in his quiet, even voice.

Blake stomped his foot on the ground and exasperatedly cried "You don't play fair, Lucian! I'm supposed to win all the time!"

Lucian smiled slyly, his golden eyes narrowing in bored amusement. "Oh? And how do you figure?"

"Because I'm the Pimpernel!" he cried, his deep blue eyes filling with frustration.

"So you were the French, Lucian?" Percy asked quietly. Lucian didn't even look in his father's direction, but nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

"I was the princess of France, Papa!" a young girl cried joyfully as she ran out of the bushes and wrapped her arms around Percy's leg, small twigs sticking out of her neatly combed strawberry blonde hair.

"Oh, were you now, Helouise?"

The little girl looked up at her father with his light blue eyes and smiled happily. "Yes, Papa! We lost!"

Percy shrugged slightly, chuckling slightly at his daughter's utter joy at being on the losing end. "Ah, well. Better luck next time, eh what? Come now, children. Your uncle Armand is here and your mother wants you all to eat something."

Blake and Helouise lit up at the mention of their uncle and rushed off toward the mansion. When their father said that someone was over, that usually meant that there were several people within the house. And that meant more children. Things couldn't possibly be better.

Lucian sighed heavily and looked blankly at the ground. It wasn't that he disliked his uncle in particular; it was more of an utter loathing of people in general. Not that he despised everyone, mind you; he quite liked his sister and his mother, and his brother and father were sometimes tolerable. Everyone else in the world was insufferable.

Percy looked down at the golden haired boy in his apparent frustration. "What's wrong, Lucian?" Percy asked gently as he knelt in front of the boy, tilting his head up so he could look into the child's falcon-like eyes.

"Father, must I socialize?" Lucian asked his father, his wide eyes pleading for a negative answer.

Percy couldn't help but laugh at the boy's uncongenially; so different from his other children. This, of course, was to be expected, for Percy was not Lucian's father. The young golden boy was the love child of Marguerite and Agent Armand Chauvelin, and Chauvelin, as he remembered, had the same misanthropic quality as his son. Little Lucian naturally had no inkling to his lineage; no one did, for Percy had raised the illegitimate child as his own.

Percy smiled at the beautiful child before him and gently said, "How about I make you a deal, son?" Percy's smile broadened as the young boy held his breath and gave his father his full attention, clear gold eyes filled with hope. "Get up to your room without any of our guests seeing you, and I'll tell your mother that I couldn't find you."

Lucian stared at Percy in astonishment for a few moments before his mouth spread into one of his rare but utterly charming smiles and he threw his arms around his father's neck. "I cannot possibly thank you enough, father!" he cried happily.

"But if you are seen, you must promise to be at least somewhat social." Percy said sternly as he stood up.

Lucian's elated smile became cunning as he laid his right hand over his heart and raised the other in the air. "You have my word."

"Very good!" Percy said in his inane drawl. "Off with you now, boy. Let's see what you can do."

Lucian flashed an intelligent, devious look at Percy before he silently ran down to the house.

* * *

Lucian Blakeney was a perfect blend of his mother and father. Both parents were extremely good looking, and the young boy happened to inherit the best features of each, making him stunningly beautiful, even at the tender age of eight. What made the boy so striking was his remarkable likeness to his mother; long, slender limbs with smooth, even features, and his thick, golden hair and his father's pale, yellow eyes gave the child such a radiance that he quickly became the envy of many men and all women in the court of England. 

Lucian was also gifted enough to acquire the intelligence of his parents; sublime wit from his mother, and the salient genius of his father. Though the boy was reclusive to the extreme, his very presence turned heads and attracted the attention of all those around him, and people instantly flocked to his side, despite his deliberate attempts to remain secluded.

Young Lucian spoke very little, but when he did, his voice was quiet, calm, and smooth, nearly hypnotic; though he spoke softly, his words silenced all those nearby and chilled the air. The child was terribly charismatic and exuded charm, yet everyone agreed that there was something not quite right about the boy and all those who looked upon him were filled with trepidation. Yet despite this, all instantly liked him and they were drawn to him like moths to flame, though nobody could say exactly why.

Lucian was a stoic child who showed very little emotion if any at all, and rarely smiled; a quality he acquired from his father. This alone would not have been any cause for worry, yet like his mother, he had all the makings of a great actor, and was therefore, by definition, a superb liar. Lucian discovered at a young age that with the combination of being unreadable and a cunning liar, he could easily deceive anyone he wanted, and more importantly, could acquire anything he so desired. Though there was very little in life that he wanted, he did not hesitate to use this ability when he needed to.

Despite his potentially dangerous qualities, the Blakeneys had raised Lucian impeccably and the child was genuinely good at heart with a strong sense of morality. This was due largely in part to Percy and Marguerite's careful sheltering of the boy, taking precautions to keep the child isolated from France for fear of him acquiring knowledge of Chauvelin and becoming anything like his father. Yet despite the Blakeneys' attempts to protect the boy, Lucian was still Chauvelin's son, and as he grew older, he became more like his father with each passing month.

* * *

Lucian stood flat against the wall just before the dining room where his mother sat with her brother and his family. The stairs were on the other side of the hallway and in order to get there, he needed to run past the large opening to the dining room. This needed to be timed perfectly and done swiftly and silently, as there was no place to conceal himself. 

Percy entered the house and passed by Lucian to meet his brother-in-law, casting an encouraging look at the boy against the wall before he went in the room.

Lucian crouched down and as soon as he heard his father strike up conversation with his uncle and aunt, he swiftly ran across the hall, his feet not making a sound as they fell upon the floor. As he passed the large opening of the dining room, he stood up taller so he could run faster to the stairs that would lead him to the safe, quiet confines of his room. He was almost there, and a joyful smile spread across his face; he had made it, and everything in the world was suddenly good and right.

Just as his foot struck the first step, he froze in mid-motion as, at least as far as he was concerned, the most deplorable, detestable, and annoyingly grating sound known to man called out "Lucian! Where are you going?"

Lucian suddenly became nearly impassive, his eyes narrowed in frustration and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly as he fought for self-control. His cousin Gilles. Dear Lord, how he despised that pitiful excuse for a breathing organism.

Cursing under his breath more fluently then any eight year old should be able to, he slowly turned around and walked passed his cousin without a word and entered the dining room; he had made a promise to his father, and he intended on keeping it.

Gilles was not at all surprised at Lucian's behavior. He was actually a bit pleased with the response he received from his cousin. Lucian usually wouldn't even acknowledge that he had spoken; the fact that he responded, even with a nonverbal response, was a definite improvement. Gilles watched with bright green eyes as the golden boy silently walked past him and, sighing heavily and running a hand through his light brown hair, he closely followed his cousin into the dining room.

Lucian quickly became more annoyed than he was previously as his gold eyes darted around the room and took in the faces of the Dewhurst and the Ffoulkes families. Trust his father to bring them to Blakeney Manor with no reason whatsoever. For a moment, Lucian entertained the idea that the constant presence of these people was done merely to spite him, but he quickly brushed that notion aside; Tony, Andrew, and their families were here so often they may as well move in.

"Ah, Lucian! You finally decided to join us, I see." Percy said in his laziest drawl as the eldest Blakeney child entered the room.

"Indeed I have, father." he said quietly. As soon as he spoke, Andrew's young daughter, Allison, removed herself from he mother's lap and trotted to Lucian's side.

Lucian eyed the young girl nervously, and as she came closer, he slowly inched away, hoping that she would understand that he required at least five feet of space between them.

Allison clearly did not understand.

Sighing in defeat, he bowed slightly and took her small, delicate hand in his and softly kissed it.

Allison was overjoyed; so rarely did this strange child pay anyone even the slightest bit of attention, and to be on the receiving end of such gallantries from the beautiful boy was elating.

"Lucian, my boy, how have you been?" Andrew asked the child gently.

Grateful for the distraction and the excuse to pull away from the seemingly infatuated girl, he gracefully walked to the group of adults and, bowing slightly, smoothly said, "Quite well, Lord Ffoulkes. And what of yourself?"

"Couldn't be better."

"Always good to know."

"Lucian, why don't you take Allison and Gilles and go play with your brother." Percy suggested.

Lucian cringed. Blake in a crowd was quite possibly the single most aggravating thing possible. Leaning to look past his father, he saw Blake on the other side of the room, flanked by Tony's twin daughters and Andrew's son, gesticulating wildly and looking like a genuine idiot at best.

Sighing in frustration, he coldly looked up at his father and said in an icy voice "If that is your will, father, then I shall escort my cousin and Mademoiselle Ffoulkes." With a quick bow to the adults, he called for Gilles and Allison and quickly strode off to meet his moron of a brother.

Gilles quickly scurried beside his cousin and asked with a touch of arrogance "How have things been here in England, Lucian?" No response. Gilles frowned in disappointment and tried a different approach. "Have you ever crossed the channel, Lucian?" Still no answer. Gilles became incredibly frustrated at his cousin's uncooperativeness and settled on taking a direct approach. "Lucian, I just got back from a trip to France!"

Lucian stopped as though he had run into a wall. Gilles grinned and lifted his head in a gesture of superiority as his cousin looked at him with a mixture of surprise and envy in his yellow eyes. Gilles had one moment of delicious supremacy over the boy before his ego suddenly deflated as Lucian ran back to the group of adults without a word to the disappointed boy.

"Uncle Armand!" Lucian cried as he frantically clawed at Armand's coat. "You went to France? Tell me about France, uncle!"

Percy and Marguerite exchanged slightly fearful looks at the boy's outburst. "Not now, darling." Marguerite said quietly as she laid her hand upon her son's head. "We have some business to discuss. He can tell you later."

"But, mother…"

"Children!" Percy called loudly, effectively cutting off the aggravated boy. "Why don't you all go upstairs and play?"

Blake and Helouise lit up like the sun as they were given permission to leave the company of the adults. With Andrew and Tony's children in tow, the two Blakeney children sauntered toward the hallway.

As soon as they laid eyes on him, Tony's twin girls, Tacey and Tambre, flounced toward Lucian and, much to the dismay of Allison, threw their arms about the perpetually flustered boy. "We missed you, Lucian!" Tacey cried happily as Tambre planted a kiss upon his cheek.

Lucian sneered in absolute disgust at the girls. "Get you gone, you nasty women!" he hissed dangerously and the twins instantly let go, completely unfazed, and rushed to catch up with Blake.

As soon as they left, Lucian turned wide, pleading eyes upon his father. "Please. Let me stay. I want to learn about France."

Percy knelt before the boy and placed his hands upon his shoulders. "Later, son. I promise."

"It's always later, father!" Lucian cried, raising his voice slightly. "I'll never learn because you always say later and attach an empty promise to tell me. But later. Always later! When will it be later, father?"

"Lucian…"

"Why, father?" the boy asked desperately, pitifully, as tears began to fill his eyes. "What do you have against me learning about France? I want to learn. There is more then just England, father, though I doubt that someone as dim-witted as yourself could understand that!"

Marguerite got on her knees behind her son and pulled him against her. "Hush, Lucian." she said gently as she stroked his hair.

"Why, mother?" Lucian quietly sobbed in French as he turned in her embrace and laid his head against her chest. "Why does father love Blake more then me?"

"Nonsense." Marguerite said quietly. "He loves you just as much as your brother."

"No he doesn't. He took Blake with him on his last trip to France and I had to stay home. He doesn't love me." He had stopped crying and looked over his shoulder at Percy with absolute contempt in his golden eyes. "He doesn't even like it when I speak French. Is it because he's too stupid to understand, or is there some other reason?"

Marguerite pulled Lucian closer to her and held him tightly. "That's enough." she said quietly.

Lucian cuddled against his mother; though he knew that his father held no love for him, his mother did. He could live with that.

"Lucian?" The boy looked over Marguerite's shoulder and saw his sister walk tentatively into the room. "Everyone is missing your company, brother."

"You may tell them that I'm sorry to abstain from their presence, but I shall be retiring to my chambers." he said quietly as he pushed away his mother's arms.

"Oh." Helouise said sadly. "I shall tell them. May I escort you to your room, brother?"

Lucian offered his sister his arm and as she took it, he cast a cold, vicious glare at the group of adults before heading out of the room.

* * *

Lucian never liked his brother Blake very much. Though he did not possess the sheer beauty and the nearly hypnotic charisma of his brother, Blake was well loved by everyone. He was nearly an exact copy of his father in both looks and mannerism; the beautiful sandy blonde hair and a sharp intellect hidden behind a foppish façade placed him in high favor among the court of England. Despite his inane manner, his mother's deep blue eyes shone with refined wit and sublime kindness. Blake was gentle, simple, and honest, filled with charm, wit, and subtle intelligence, and for this, all loved him. 

Lucian was smarter and more beautiful then his brother, but he couldn't help but envy Blake. While Lucian's presence commanded awe and respect, Blake had everyone's affection, something that Lucian was never able to attain. Either way, Lucian didn't care; he disliked people, and the more they flocked to Blake, the less he had to deal with. What spurred this terrible jealousy and ultimately lead to his hatred of Blake was that the detestable boy had somehow managed to earn their father's love, while Lucian could not.

Despite his frequent and desperate attempts to get his father to love him, Lucian was consistently unsuccessful. Lucian believed at first to be mistaken, but as he carefully watched his father, he became more and more convinced that Percy loved Blake more then he. His father looked at his brother with pure adoration and pride, yet when Percy looked at him, he could detect hurt and betrayal in his eyes, a certain sorrow and coldness in his entire disposition.

Lucian came to believe that there was something wrong with him if not even the amiable Percy Blakeney could truly love him. He had spent nearly every day trying to secure a small piece of his father's love, but at the end of the day, it was always Blake who managed to garner their father's praise. Though his brother could never beat him in anything they did, this was still not enough to please his father.

Everything he did never seemed to be good enough, and young Lucian's hopes of being loved just as well as Blake quickly vanished as the game grew monotonous and constant failure grew too disheartening to bare. His resentment toward his brother, the ever-standing victor, quickly dissolved into an envious hatred of the young Blakeney. All Lucian ever wanted was his father's love and approval. For some reason unbeknownst to him, he could never have it. What better way to vent his dejected furry then to blame it on Blake?

* * *

As soon as he heard Helouise's footsteps die as she walked down the long corridor, Lucian slowly opened his bedroom door and quickly checked the hallway for people before he slipped out of his room and swiftly made his way to the stairs. If his father refused to tell him about France, he would employ his own devices to learn about that untouchable land. 

He silently crept down the stairs and ran to an adjoining hall. Within this corridor, there were long tapestries upon the wall that hung elegantly from ceiling to floor. Quickly scanning the hall for servants and unwanted children, Lucian quickly ducked behind one of the tapestries. He frantically groped the wall and hooked his fingers around a small iron loop in the wood and tugged back until the wall reveled a small passage as a circular section of the wall was removed.

He quickly dove into the passage and put the makeshift door back in its proper place; he could not afford to be found out, not now. He crawled on his hands and knees through he passage, his back just grazing the top of the tiny corridor. At the end of the tunnel, the small space opened up so the boy could stand and move freely.

Righting himself and quickly brushing the dust off his pants, he ran to the end of the small area and ran his hands along the end wall. His fingers brushed an uneven brick and he quickly removed it, revealing a small hole that looked through the fireplace into the dining room. Lucian grinned in total satisfaction; from where he stood, he could clearly see and hear the group of adults, though they could neither see nor hear him. Perfect.

"No, not at all. Things are well in France, Percy." Armand assured the slightly worried man.

Lucian frowned in frustration; he had missed something. Damn his sister for holding him up!

"The entire country is recovering brilliantly form Robespierre's Reign of Terror." Armand continued.

"Is it really?" Percy asked in a sort of joyful wonder. "I never would have thought."

"So this new leader of the French is doing well then?" Tony asked quietly. "The small one…what's his name again?"

"Napoleon Bonaparte. Yes, the man is doing very well."

"He is bringing back several of the institutions that the Committee of Public Safety expelled." Louise St. Just, Armand's wife, cut in. "He has invited back the nobility and has promised their safety."

"Has he really?" Suzanne asked excitedly. "Oh, Andrew, darling! We must find some time to visit!" the young woman cried, gently squeezing her husband's hand.

"If what our friends say is true, then we shall as soon as possible." Andrew said, gently smiling at the girl.

"Napoleon has also brought the church back to France. He has made an awfully nice deal with the Pope." Armand continued.

"Brother, that's wonderful!" Marguerite cried. "France really is going back to the way it was before, isn't it?"

"No, Marguerite. The people there are now free. Despite how bloody it was, I'm inclined to say that the Revolution was a success."

"So we are to like this Napoleon character, what?" Tony asked.

"As a whole, yes. But there are some things that he has done that should defiantly be looked down upon." Armand gravely said.

"Oh?" Percy asked, curious to the cause of Armand's sudden serious tone. "Like what?"

"This is the matter I wished to speak to you about." Armand said quietly. "I trust you remember Agent Chauvelin?"

Marguerite's eyes shot open and she looked at her brother in apprehension. Chauvelin, that man she had loved so many years ago, and yet still could not forget. How long has it been since anyone but she had spoken his name?

Percy shivered and quietly said, "Dead these nine years, yet despite the time, I cannot forget him."

"You're not the only one, Percy." Armand whispered. "France loves him, God knows why, but the entire country worships him. Percy, Napoleon has used his power over the church to declare Chauvelin a martyr, and his sainthood is pending as we speak."

The entire room was thrown into chaos.

"That man came directly from Hell and rests there now!"

"He nearly killed me and my entire family!"

"After all those he has murdered, the church of God is honoring his memory?"

"That man once stood in a river of blood, and they are making him a saint?"

Percy's head was swimming; nothing made sense and the others were making such a commotion he could not think. He clenched his eyes tightly and tried to block out the increasing noise, but to no avail. Percy had finally had it and he slammed his hand down on the table, shouting as loud as he could "For the love of God, all of you, stop it!"

The entire room fell silent immediately and Percy gently rubbed his temples with his thumbs. "Armand, how are the people of France taking this?" Percy asked quietly.

"They love it. They have been praying to him since Louis XVI was sentenced to death. Since he has now been sanctified by the church, they have started to worship him publicly because it's no longer idolatry or heresy."

"Is it really that bad?" Percy asked, smiling sadly.

"Much worse, I'm afraid. After they rebuilt Calais, the built a shrine to him on the place that he fell and they have built a huge monument in Paris on the spot he was put to rest. The Pope himself has made those places holy ground."

"When?"

"Yesterday, Percy. I was there to watch."

Percy neatly folded his hands and leaned his head against them, lost in thought. "There is nothing we can do about this." he said slowly after a moment of total silence. "We can teach our children what sort of a man he truly was, but we can do little more then that without having church officials on our backs for defaming his name. Martyr or not, Chauvelin is dead. He can't hurt anyone anymore."

"Even in death, he still haunts our lives." Andrew said quietly. "Percy, can we never get away from him?"

Marguerite suddenly felt light-headed and latched on to her husband for support. Percy instantly understood and drew her against him and gently stroked her hair as she buried her head in his coat. "No, Andrew." he whispered. "I don't think we ever will."

Marguerite moaned slightly as her arms tightened around Percy and she begun to tremble as she silently wept.

Percy held her tightly and gently rocked back and forth to calm the woman. "Leave us for a moment, would you?" Percy asked softly. Everyone in the room nodded slightly and left Percy and his wife in peace.

"Hush now, my Margot. It's alright. Everything is well."

"How can you say that?" she cried, looking up at her husband with red-rimmed eyes. She quickly buried her head back into Percy's coat and softly muttered, "I miss him so much, my love."

Percy tensed a bit as Marguerite's old sentiments for the agent surfaced again; he never really understood how deep the wounds Chauvelin's death had inflicted were, but he was starting to get an idea. "You have not yet forgotten him? Not even a bit, darling?"

"How could I?" she asked tearfully. "I loved him, I shared his bed, and I had…" Her voice broke as she renewed her weeping and tightened her hold on Percy. "He never should have died."

Percy could say nothing to comfort the desolate woman. After all, it was his fault that the man was dead. He had been very careful to shield his wife from Chauvelin's name for fear of losing her to his memory, but now she was dealing with her lover's death as if it had happened yesterday. Not speaking about this had prevented the wound from healing, and the temporary fix on the injury had just been torn off, and she was bleeding again. "My love, speak to me. How can I help you?"

"Lucian." Marguerite quickly dried her eyes and pushed away from Percy. "What will we do? Martyrdom is a church institution. It won't be long before his name spreads around England. Our children are bound to learn of him!"

"Marguerite…"

"My son, Percy! What if he finds out that…"

"Hush, my love. No one but you and I know. It will be alright. I swear it. We will just tell him what we tell Blake and Helouise if he ever asks. He will never know,"

"I suppose you are right." she said slowly. "But Chauvelin…"

"Chauvelin is dead, Margot." Percy slowly approached his wife and gently drew her into his embrace. "Let me help you forget him."

Marguerite was weeping so hard she could not speak, but she allowed her beloved husband to hold her. The two stood in silence only broken by Marguerite's choked sobs as Percy gently stroked her hair.

Marguerite slowly managed to compose herself and looked up into her husband's eyes. "I love you, Percy."

He smiled gently at the beautiful woman in his arms and tenderly kissed her tear-stained cheeks. "And I you, darling." Percy gently brushed Marguerite's hair away from her face and kissed her forehead. "Come, love. Let's see to your brother." Marguerite linked her arm through her husband's and allowed him to escort her out of the room to meet with the rest of the adults.

Young Lucian was stunned. Even after his parents had left and all was silent, he remained frozen to the wall, his mind slowly turning over all that he had heard. Chauvelin. He had never even heard of the man before.

He slowly detached himself from his post, placed the brick back in its proper place, and sat on the dusty floor of his alcove. A sly smile slid over his face as he realized that this man, this Chauvelin, was his key to France. A martyr, dead nine years, worshiped in France like a god. And here he thought that heroes didn't exist in the Common Era; that saints and martyrs, heroes and demigods were merely stories of the past, primitive fantasies. But here was this martyr who threw all of his preconceptions to pieces. A saint and hero, and those adults were afraid of him! He must have been quite the man to have only his name throw even adults such as those into chaos.

And his mother. Lucian's eyes narrowed in concentration. His mother had known him, had loved him, and had expressed a strong aversion to letting him know about the saint. His parents were hiding something from him, pulling a blanket over his eyes and shielding him from some truth.

Lucian shrugged indifferently and lightly traced his finger through the dust on the ground. No matter. He would ask the priest on Sunday about Chauvelin. But his mother, she was essential. She had known him personally. If he was to learn anything about the martyr it would have to be through his mother, whether she knew it or not. He could do it. This Chauvelin would be his truth, and now that he was resolved, nothing could keep him from learning about the man.

* * *

As much as he despised his brother, Lucian simple adored his mother and his sister. Young Helouise, a child of limitless love, bright as the sun itself. Her strawberry blonde hair seemed to be spun from rays of light and her clear, light blue eyes shown with a radiance known only to the angels. 

Perhaps it was because Helouise was so much like her mother that allowed Lucian to develop this strange and unusual bond with the child of light. Helouise possessed her mother's sublime wit and she was remarkably intelligent, often able to challenge the intellects of those several years her elder. She was also uncommonly kind-hearted and gentle, a sweet and soft-spoken child who emanated a heavenly joy that engulfed all those nearby.

Yet despite her gentleness, Helouise possessed an indomitable spirit, a spunk that prevented her from fitting into the role of a noblewoman. She was tough and didn't mind getting dirty or injured, and it was this odd combination of peace and aggressiveness that drew people to her in fascination.

Lucian could not help but love the girl with all his heart. She was an individual, a child not unlike fire; beautiful, wild, and depending on how treated, comforting or dangerous, and that's what he loved about her. Likewise, Helouise had been drawn to her brother's side since she could walk on her own. Helouise understood Lucian, and made it her duty to comfort him in his sorrow and relieve him from his self-imposed solitude.

Lucian was fascinated by the girl; her wit challenged his own and her kindness never ceased to amaze him. She did everything in her power to put him at ease, and she would often use her extroverted qualities to divert attention away from the introverted boy, for which he was eternally grateful.

As much as he simply adored his sister, he fervently loved his mother. Though he lacked his father's love, he had his mother's complete affection. His mother protected him and comforted him, would often spend hours at a time just sitting with Lucian in her embrace, and would sit by his bedside and run her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep. Marguerite lover her son, her illegitimate child, more then enough to make up for the love that his father had deprived him.

Lucian loved his mother and his sister so much that his young heart did not have the ability to love any others, yet Marguerite and Helouise made sure that he didn't need to.

* * *

Lucian quickly exited and covered his passage and ran toward the stairs, but skidded to a halt as he saw the adults congregated in the hall. He rolled his eyes in frustration and swiftly changed direction and ran out the back door and into the sprawling gardens of Blakeney Manor. 

He ran around to the side of the house and stopped before a large tree. He looked up and smiled broadly as he saw the open window of his bedroom right above him. He stretched slightly before he jumped up and grabbed one of the tree's limbs and began to climb; jumping into his room from the tree shouldn't be too difficult. He had of course, never done it before, but it didn't look terribly hard.

He crouched down and steadied himself on a limb level with the window and slowly stood up, arms held out for balance. Bending his knees slightly, he took a deep breath and leapt through the window, landing with a splash within a bathtub filled with cold water.

Lucian frantically scrambled to get out of the tub as he was engulfed in the icy water, but the edges were slippery and he quickly lost his grip and fell face first back into the water, his forehead hitting the edge of the tub as he fell. He quickly righted himself and stood shivering in the freezing water, his soaked clothing clinging to his thin frame as he gripped his head in pain and shouted a string of curses in several different languages that would make even the raunchiest of sailors turn scarlet in shame.

It was at this exact moment that Sir Percy Blakeney chose to walk into young Lucian's room to retrieve the boy so he could say proper farewells to their guests.

"Futue te ipsum! Stercus pro cerebro habes!"

"Dear me, Lucian! Was that Latin?"

Lucian could do nothing but stare dumbly at his father and shake uncontrollably from the cold. He had just been caught in an incredibly awkward situation. Well, at least he hadn't been _caught_. Given his current predicament, Lucian did what any other eight year old would do in such a position: deny the blatantly obvious. "Nooooo…."

"Well, your mother and I are going to have a long talk about what to do about your language, son. It's simply filthy! Pity a bath can't clean everything."

And again, reprimands from his father. Never mind that he had taught himself to speak a dead language fluently. Once again, not enough. Lucian looked down sadly at another failed attempt, however unintentional it was, to impress his father. Praise, never. Only criticism.

Percy looked strangely at the shivering young boy as if he had just noticed he was standing in a bathtub, drenched and fully clothed. "Heavens, Luc! Where have your brains gone?"

"Father, please, don't call me Luc…"

"Sink me, you look like a drowned cat! Now, mind you, if you wish to bathe, that's perfectly well, but most remove their clothing prior to getting wet."

"But, father, I…"

"Demned inefficient, if you ask me!" Percy continued as if the soaking child had not spoken. "With all that fabric in the way! La, but you couldn't properly wash yourself, not to mention you ruin a perfectly fine outfit!"

Lucian groaned and sank back into the water, held his breath, and completely submerged himself; even the freezing water was preferable to his father's mindless prattle.

"Percy, darling?" Marguerite called as she climbed the stairs. "What's taking you so long? Is Lucian not there?"

"No, no, nothing like that, love." Percy called as he walked out of the child's room and hung over the banister. "Your son has just decided to wash himself and do his laundry simultaneously. La, he didn't even have the water heated!"

Marguerite's eyes widened in shock and concern and rushed up the rest of the stairs and dashed into Lucian's room.

"Saves time and it's less work for the servants, what?" Percy relentlessly continued as he walked down the stairs. "Such a considerate boy. Me thinks he may be on to something! Soon, the whole of England shall be bathing with their clothing on! Demned clever child, what?"

Marguerite ran into Lucian's room and frantically looked around for her son. He was nowhere to be seen. She heard a faint splashing and rushed into the other section of his room and found the boy facedown in a tub filled with water. Panic seized her and she quickly threw her arms about the child and fished him out of the icy water.

Lucian looked around in confusion, shivering uncontrollably and gasping for breath. His wide, gold eyes fell upon his mother's relieved face and stuttered, "Is father gone?"

Confirming that her son was well, she held him at arms length and looked at him sternly. "Look at yourself, Lucian! You're soaked to the bone and white as a sheet! You would put yourself in danger and frighten your mother to hide from your father?"

"Mother, I…"

"No, I don't want to hear it!" Marguerite's anger quickly evaporated as her son looked at her with those pale, yellow eyes and she held the boy tightly against her. "Look, your lips are turning blue, poor thing. Let's get you out of your clothes or you will catch your death of chill."

Marguerite quickly unbuttoned his shirt and gently removed it and cast it to the side as she cast it to the side as she helped him out of his pants. When Marguerite had stripped the boy of all of his clothing, she left his side for a moment to retrieve a towel for the shivering child.

"Mother." Lucian called gently from his bed where he sat shaking form the cold. "I'm sorry."

Marguerite smiled softly as she returned to her son and wrapped the towel and her arms around him. "There is nothing to be forgiven for." she said sweetly as she vigorously rubbed Lucian's arms and torso to warm him. "Just promise me that you won't do anything like that again."

Lucian smiled tiredly as his mother's embrace warmed him and his shivering ceased. He snuggled into his mother and, sighing in content, whispered, "You will not have to fear for that, mother. I quite dislike cold water."

Marguerite pulled her son closer and gently stroked his wet hair. "Good." she said softly, gently kissing the top of his head. "Come, love. We need to bid our guests farewell."

"Don't make me go." he whispered, burring his head against his mother's breasts.

"Now, now, Lucian. You must be a gentleman. Come." she said as she drew the towel-clad boy into her arms and carried him out of his room. "You can stay with me."

Lucian pouted slightly as his mother picked him up but relaxed his head against her shoulder. Though he was not happy that he was being forced to be semi-social, the fact that he would be with his mother was comforting.

As Marguerite walked down the stairs with Lucian cradled in her arms, Percy looked up and exclaimed in the most foppish tone imaginable "La, but what is this, son? Wearing a towel? Goodness, you're just setting trends right and left! First bathing with your clothing, then wearing the demned towels! La, my boy, if you don't wear the clothing, where's the point of washing the cursed garments? They would never get dirty!"

"Perhaps," Andrew interjected in an equally foppish tone, "he intends to bathe with the towels?"

Percy stood in silence for a moment and looked absently at his friend before saying in awe "By God, man! That doesn't make any proper sense! With what would he dry himself? The clothing? My word, it's a never-ending vicious cycle! Dear me, Luc, you are turning the entire world on it's head! No, no, that simply won't do. You must stop this trend-setting immediately!"

Lucian hid his face against his mother's chest, quietly mumbling "Please, mother. Make him stop."

Marguerite put her son sown and knelt before him, gently stroking his still damp hair. "Go on into the kitchen and get something to eat, but you must promise to come back immediately and say goodbye."

"Of course, mother."

"Good. Go, Cherie."

Lucian cast a grateful look at his mother and quickly took off down the hall. When the boy was out of earshot, Marguerite softly said "Percy, please, don't tease Lucian. You know how he hates it."

"I wasn't teasing!" he cried defensively. "I was simply pointing out the disastrous direction he may have lead the country!"

Marguerite frowned disapprovingly at her husband. "Honestly, Percy. Do refrain from such antics. He looks up to you. He really does. And when you treat him like that, it hurts him." She laid her hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear "Lucian cares much more then he shows."

Percy suddenly felt horrible. Though he didn't think he had done anything wrong, the fact that he may have hurt Lucian filled him with a feeling of remorse. He often forgot that Marguerite's first son was not his first son, and he simply could not joke around with Lucian the way he could with Blake. Lucian lacked that sense of humor, a quality, he clearly remembered, his father shared. "I suppose I owe the boy an apology, what?" Percy asked somewhat morosely.

"I would appreciate it if you did, love."

"Very well. It shall be done. But first, let's see our guests out."

* * *

After the family had dined together, Percy excused himself and, quickly kissing his wife and children, left Blakeney Manor to visit Andrew at his estate. The young lord needed some help moving some things, and Percy had promised his friend that he would be there; after all, the man had been crippled in a fight with the soon to be sainted Chauvelin, and it was frankly a miracle Andrew could walk at all. 

Marguerite spent a good portion of the evening breaking up the frequent fights between Blake and Lucian and telling the children stories of the heroics of the Scarlet Pimpernel on Blake's request. A few hours later, the children were fast asleep and the total silence and solitude that Marguerite faced forced her thoughts to wander down paths rarely traveled. She usually had Percy's company to keep her mind off such painful subjects, and the fact that the afternoon's conversation had been about him only worsened the situation.

As she stood there in the dark, she felt a chill as her mind filled with images of Chauvelin, a man she loved, the father of her child. Her soul trembled and she clutched her chest as if trying to hold her heart in place. Even after all these years, she still loved him, and it didn't help that she blamed herself for his death. And, curse it all, he died thinking that she never loved him!

Before she knew what she was doing, she was silently weeping and walking swiftly toward her own personal rooms; rooms that haven't been used since she and Percy had renewed their love for each other. She carefully opened the door and stepped into the room, her eyes quickly scanning the room as she slowly made her way to the large burrow at the other end of the room.

Gently opening the large doors, she dropped to her knees and pulled open the bottom drawer. The moonlight coming through the window reflected off a beautiful, black blade lying in the drawer. Marguerite drew in a sharp breath and gently ran her fingers over the polished weapon. Her weeping increased in intensity as she took a neatly folded satin sash from under the sword and carefully unfolded it.

For a moment, she could do nothing but stare at the beautiful, tricolor garment in her hands, gently running a thumb over the smooth material. She whimpered slightly and tightly clutched the sash to her body, holding a bit of it to her face and wept as though she were holding the dying body of her lover in her arms.

Contrary to what Marguerite thought, not all of her children were asleep. Lucian lay wide-awake in his bed, his young mind turning over all that he had heard that day. The grown ups had said that the martyr had been a murderer, and that didn't make any sense. And the fact that his mother had said that she had loved him wasn't helping the situation in the least bit. Lucian was terribly confused and he couldn't handle it; he needed his mother.

He slid out of bed and quietly opened the door, looked both ways, and stepped into the hall, his feet pattering as he made his way to his parents' room.

Young Lucian stood before the room in confusion; the door was wide open, and his mother wasn't in there. He timidly put one foot beyond the threshold and gently called "Mother?" but was met with no response. He stood there in absolute silence and allowed himself to become minutely paranoid, but was presently returned to his state of absolute calm as his keen ears picked up some quiet noise from down the hall.

He quickly shuffled to the room at the end of the hall and stood outside the closed door of a room he was not allowed to enter. He laid his head against the door; his mother was defiantly in there.

Deciding that his mother would understand that he needed her and would forgive him for entering the forbidden territory, he silently opened the door and peeked his head into the room.

His bright, golden eyes widened in wonder; his mother sat on the ground with her back toward him, her shoulders shaking, and she was muttering something incoherent between heart-wrenching sobs. Lucian squinted into the darkness; she was holding something

As his eyes adjusted, he found himself gazing at the most beautiful piece of fabric he had ever seen, and for some inexplicable reason, found himself strangely drawn to it. He shook his head and banished these thoughts from his head; his mother needed him perhaps more then he needed her. Softly stepping into the room, he quietly called "Mother."

Marguerite stiffened slightly as she heard her son call for her, but was too grief-stricken to really think coherently, and did not respond to her child. She carefully folded the sash and gently placed it back in its proper place and slid the drawer closed. She slowly turned on her knees to face her son and, sniffling slightly, held her arms out to him.

Lucian rushed to his mother and threw his arms around her neck and laid his head on her shoulder.

Marguerite wrapped her arms tightly around the child and wept slightly. This boy was all she had left of Chauvelin, and she'd be damned if she couldn't protect him; she had already failed his father. "What's wrong, Lucian?"

"I was worried about you, mother." he said quietly. He pulled back slightly so he could look into her red-rimmed eyes. "Are you alright? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, darling." she whispered through her tears. "Nothing."

"You miss daddy, don't you?"

Marguerite tensed and her arms instinctively tightened around the boy even more, if that was even possible. The child naturally had no inkling of the impact his words had on the desolate woman. Marguerite laid her cheek on the top of the boy's head and began weeping nearly hysterically. "Yes, Lucian. I miss your father. Very, very much."

Lucian felt absolutely helpless as he watched his beloved mother fall to pieces before his eyes. God, how he hated being useless. She was holding him so tightly he was having a hard time breathing, but he nestled against her and affectionately kissed her collarbone. "It's alright, mother. I'm here for you. I won't leave you, not ever."

Marguerite was weeping too hard to respond, but she gently rocked back and forth and within moments, both mother and son were fast asleep.


	2. The Ward of Heaven

**Hello again. Sorry for the slight delay in the updating process, but the time before the holidays is always super busy, not to mention school finding a way to rape my hopes of free time at every turn. But here it is. Being that this is a story that implements my own characters, I do need some feedback on what you think of the kids. So please, read and review, or e-mail me and tell me what you think of the story and the development of the small people. It would help greatly.**

**Disclaimer: I own Lucian. Go me! But that's about it.**

**Soon the Moon Will Smoulder**

**Chapter 2: The Ward of Heaven**

"We will conclude this Sunday's mass with the following message. Please open your Bibles to the Book of Genesis, chapter Thirty Seven."

There was a brief shuffling of paper and people within the Westminster Abbey Cathedral before it was again quiet enough for the Archbishop to continue. Nearly every noble family in England was congregated within the church that morning, and the Blakeneys were no exception. The king had called for a mass gathering of the lords and ladies of the court for no other reason then to have a large party.

To not attend a gala of this magnitude would be terribly unfashionable, and therefore, the most horrid thing imaginable, at least according to Percy Blakeney. So he quickly threw the wife and kids in the carriage and they were off to London to attend church and the party.

"Dad." Blake whispered, sharply driving his elbow into Percy's ribs. "I can't find Genesis!"

"It's in the beginning of the book, son."

"It's not here! I can't even read it!"

Percy looked quizzically at his son for moment before smiling softly and turning Blake's book right side up.

"Ah. Well, that certainly makes a difference."

"This tells the story of Joseph, the youngest son of Israel." the Archbishop continued regally. "The book says that Israel loved Joseph more then any of his other sons. When his brothers saw that their father loved him more then any of them, they hated him and could not speak a kind word to him."

The rest of the sermon was lost on Percy. Amazing how one passage could strike a man so! He quickly shot a glance at the golden child on the other side of his wife and his breath caught in his chest; Lucian was casting a vicious, sidelong glare at his oblivious brother, trembling slightly and breathing unevenly as with each passing second the boy lost himself to jealous rage.

Lucian quickly tore his eyes away from Blake and his gaze met his father's and Percy couldn't help but shudder; Lucian suddenly disappeared and Percy found himself looking into the falcon eyes of Agent Chauvelin, burning with all the absolute hatred they had possessed on that fateful night in Calais.

Percy quickly shook his head to clear his mind of the unwanted images and once again found himself looking at Lucian, trembling slightly with his eyes clenched shut and his hands clasped tightly before him.

"Join me in prayer as we reflect upon the lesson of Jacob and Israel." the Archbishop concluded just as Percy regained his senses.

Percy lowered his head and just before he closed his eyes, he heard Lucian groan, and out of the corner of his vision, saw the boy slide off the bench and on to his knees, eyes shut tight and the bridge of his nose resting on his tightly clasped hands. The child shuddered and gently rocked back and forth, muttering something incoherent between ragged, uneven breaths as tears slowly leaked from his closed eyes, and Percy himself could have wept at the sight of the child.

Percy shut his eyes tightly and prayed as hard as he could. _Please, God. Give me the strength to be a good father to Lucian. Give me the courage to apologize to him for my trespasses. I've been less then kind to him. Forgive me. _

The service concluded, and all of the lords and ladies began to file out of the grand cathedral. Marguerite laid her hand upon her transfixed son's head and gently ran her hand through his silken hair. "Come, Luc. Let's go."

Lucian stood up and silently filed out behind his mother. But no, he wasn't leaving. He wasn't done talking to God yet. He didn't have an answer and he felt completely abandoned; he would not leave this house of worship until God answered him.

As the Blakeney family merged into the masses of noble families walking down the aisle, Lucian slipped from behind his mother and, briefly losing himself in the crowd, ducked into one of the rows of benches and lay low to the ground, waiting patiently for the church to clear.

Lucian slowly peeked over the benches when all was silent; it would not be long before his mother discovered that he was conspicuously absent and came to look for him. He needed to talk quickly, make God understand his plight.

He quickly dashed out into the center aisle and ran the length of the church, slowing to a reverent gait as he came near the alter. He trembled slightly out of nerves as he carefully placed his foot on the marble platform of the alter; not even the Archbishop came this close to the place where God was revered, but Lucian was desperate.

He lightly ran his fingers over the marble and gold of the alter before he sunk to his knees and put his hands together in prayer. A minor panic gripped him as he realized a potential problem in his plan; why would God listen to an eight year old? His father didn't listen to him. Why would God? He quickly banished the thought from his head. He was in need; God would listen.

He took a deep breath and turned his eyes toward Heaven. "Dear God. I know that you're really busy with ruling the world and doing all the other things you do, but I need your help." he said aloud, desperately, hoping beyond all reason that he had the ear of the Divine Father. "My daddy is Sir Percy Blakeney, but you knew that. I…I really like him. I do. But he doesn't love me. Not at all. He loves my brother instead."

Tears began to leak from his eyes and his voice raised in pitch as desperation overtook him. "Is it fair that he should love Blake and not me? What have I done to earn his disdain? I try to be good! I try to please him, but nothing I do is ever good enough for him!"

Lucian bowed his head, tears falling quickly down his cheeks. "I don't mean to be demanding, God," he said softly, "but I need an answer. I can see no love for me in my father, but perhaps you can. Please. I beg of you. Tell me if my father cares for me. Send me a sign that he loves me. Please."

Lucian remained on his knees, his hands shaking slightly, his head bent, and his eyes closed tight in concentration, trying as hard as he could to hear the voice of God tell him what he asked. So focused was he that he did not hear a brief fluttering through the air, and for a moment did not feel the fabric that fell over his hands.

He timidly opened his eyes and stared in disbelief at the beautiful satin material. He carefully unfolded his hands and ran gentle fingers over the tricolor banner, the flag of France, that he now held in his small hands.

A broad grin spread across his face and he turned exuberant eyes heavenward. God had answered him; he didn't exactly know what the sign meant, but God had answered him! Tightly clenching the flag in his hands, he bowed his head, trembling in joy. "Thank you, God! I cannot thank you enough!"

As the child knelt before the alter muttering thanks and praise, one of the priests of the church walked in and saw the boy praying. Smiling slightly at the young child's dedication to God, he slowly approached the boy and gently laid his hand upon his head.

Startled, Lucian looked up at the humble priest with wide, gold eyes, his countenance dropping as he was pulled back to the physical world.

"Is God answering your prayers, my son?" the priest asked the child softly.

"God is answering, but I'm not sure if his answers fit my questions." Lucian said quietly as he stood up, holding out the tricolor flag to the priest. "He sent this to me, but I don't know if he is answering me or directing me. Perhaps you can help me as well."

"God sent you this?" the priest asked awestruck. The boy nodded solemnly and the priest knelt before him, bringing himself to the child's eye level. "God has sent you a sign, my child. It's meaning may not be clear, but in time you shall discover its purpose. It appears that God has great things in store for you."

The priest stood and handed the banner back to the boy. "Come with me, child. What is troubling you?"

Lucian walked slowly beside the priest, looking sadly up at the man. "Sir, my father is Israel, my brother is Joseph, and I am the jealous brother. I asked God for a sign that my father loves me, and God sent me this. I don't know what to do."

"God works in mysterious ways. He has heard you, and I'm sure He will not abandon you. You are not alone. Just wait. God will show you that you have your father's love."

Lucian looked down at the ground and nervously clutched the flag to his chest; he desperately wished that the priest was right. His breath suddenly caught in his throat as he remembered something and looked excitedly up at the priest. "Please, sir! Can you tell me anything about the Martyr Chauvelin?"

The priest looked at the boy curiously; very few people outside the church knew about the soon to be sainted man and it struck him as odd that this child should happen to know of him. "It does seem as though God wishes you to know of France, and the martyr is important to French society. Come and I shall tell you what I can."

The priest sat on one of the benches in the front row and Lucian quickly sat beside him, looking up at the man with wide, curious eyes. "His name is Armand Chauvelin. He was the top agent of the Committee of Public Safety during the French Revolution."

"He was an agent?" Lucian asked in awe.

"The best in France. He commanded the best of the military, the secret service, and he was the ambassador to England."

"He spent time in England?" Lucian asked excitedly. If this was so, the English knew about him. Learning about this man was becoming a rather simple task.

"Yes, but the English did not think very highly of him. He was a Revolutionary, fighting on the extremist side to free the people from the monarchy, and the English never supported the Revolution."

"And that's where the Scarlet Pimpernel comes into play."

"That's correct. Agent Chauvelin was the Pimpernel's most fearsome and dangerous adversary. Chauvelin was killed in a fight with the Pimpernel. With the people's man dead, the Revolution went out of control. After Napoleon came and restored order, he had the church declare Chauvelin a martyr for dying in defense of the liberty of France."

"Wow…he really was something, wasn't he?"

"Yes. That he was."

"What else?" Lucian cried excitedly.

"Well, let's see…he was quite intelligent, some say a military genius. He was a remarkable fencer."

"He was a sword fighter?"

"Oh yes. He was the best in France, possible the best in Europe. Some say that he could fight better with his eyes closed then most could with both eyes open."

"Lucian!" Percy cried as he threw open the massive doors of the church and rushed down the aisle, quickly looking down the rows for the boy.

"Your father?"

"Yes, sir."

"God is with you."

"Thank you, sir." Lucian slid off the bench and slowly walked into the aisle, quickly folding the flag and slipping it in the inside pocket of his coat.

Percy threw his arms around the child and held him close, frantically kissing his golden hair. "Oh, thank God, Lucian. We were so worried about you."

Lucian was taken aback by his father's actions; never in his life had he shown worry or concern for him. Lucian cautiously relaxed, a part of him keeping his guard up, waiting for some cruel joke or trick from the man. Yet Percy only held him tighter. A slight smile slid across Lucian's face and he snuggled against his father.

Percy gently picked Lucian up and held the boy against him, softly kissing his cheek. "Let's go. Your mother is worried sick, and it would be cruel to keep her ignorant of your safety for any longer."

Percy nodded slightly at the priest sitting on the bench. "Thank you, father, for caring for my son."

"It was my pleasure."

Percy turned to leave, but the priest called for him and he turned to face the man of the church once again.

"Tread carefully around your son. A heavenly being has taken an interest in him."

Not knowing quite what to say, Percy nodded and left the church to deliver Lucian into the arms of a perfectly hysterical Marguerite.

* * *

After his mother had finished fussing over him, which was a long, tedious routine that he had grown quite used to, Lucian was free to run up the stairs of the mansion in London that Percy had rented for their family's use before the royal ball.

He quickly dashed into the room that he claimed as his own and threw himself upon the bed; perhaps going to this cursed social function would not be as bad as he previously thought. After all, the morning had been more then off to a good start, complete with some brief martyr education, messages from God, and such.

He slid his hand in his coat and gently ran his fingers over the neatly folded tricolor banner. God must have sent the flag as a signal that he needed to learn about the French martyr. An agent, an incredible fencer, and killed by the Pimpernel; that in itself was about the coolest thing ever. The man must have been astounding.

Lucian quickly sat up and lightly bounced on the bed; he was going to learn how to fence. This Chauvelin was far more impressive then his father had ever been. His father, the aristocrat, the fop, the man who had barely loved him, or Chauvelin, the hero, the Revolutionary fighter, the man who had died for what he believed in; the choice seemed clear to him of who was the better man, the one he should strive to emulate. Lucian smiled slyly. He would learn to fight, he would be an agent, he would defend the liberty of the people, just as the martyr had done.

A sharp knocking at his door pulled Lucian out of his revere and, slightly irritated, called out "Yes?"

Percy slowly opened the door and stepped into the room, outwardly calm, but inside he was fidgeting nervously. "Lucian. How would you…umm…like to…" Percy mentally slapped himself. This shouldn't be so hard; the boy was eight years old, for crying out loud! "How would you like to take a walk with me?"

Lucian looked at Percy slightly coldly. "Thank you, father, but I must refuse. I would rather spend as little time with Blake as it is humanly possible."

"No, Lucian, you miss my meaning!" Percy said urgently. "Blake won't be coming. It's…it will just be you and me. Not your brother, you sister, or your mother. Just us two."

Lucian looked at his father in shock. This was most unlike him. He was never willing to spend time alone with him unless it was to punish him, lecture him, or tease him. His shock melted into a timid smile and he gently whispered, "Very well, father."

Percy smiled happily; for a moment, he thought the boy would refuse; after all, he had reason enough to absolutely hate him. He held his hand out to the boy and Lucian slid off the bed and gently wrapped his long fingers around his father's palm, and Percy led the child out of the mansion.

"Where are we going, father?" Lucian asked softly, looking up at Percy in admiration with a slight smile on his face as they walked down the streets of London.

"The gardens around the king's palace are absolutely splendid. Since you're so fond of the gardens around our own estate, I thought that you would like the king's personal grounds."

"Are we allowed on the king's property?"

"Lucian, son. We're Blakeneys. We're allowed everywhere."

"Really?" Lucian asked excitedly, his golden eyes filling with wonder.

"Oh, most defiantly." Percy responded with laughter in his voice. "You're part of an important family, Luc. Can I call you Luc?"

Lucian didn't say anything, but with eyes cast at the ground, he nodded ever so slightly.

Percy smiled slightly to himself; this was a definite improvement. Perhaps he could still salvage his relationship with Marguerite's illegitimate son. They walked the rest of the way in silence, but it was quite unlike the tense, nonverbal moments they often shared. As they walked, Lucian gradually drifted closer to Percy, and by the time they reached the gates of the king's palace, his head was resting on Percy's forearm, squeezing his father's hand affectionately.

After briefly speaking to the guards, the gates opened to admit Percy and Lucian into the sprawling gardens of the king. The two moved throughout the gardens, careful to stay out of the way of the servants who were busily setting up for the party that night.

They found an isolated, quiet spot by a large pond and Percy led Lucian to an elegant marble bench on the banks of the water. They sat in silence for a long while, Lucian's pale yellow eyes filled with admiration as they scanned the gorgeous landscape of the gardens, seemingly at peace with everything in the world.

Percy, on the other hand, was fidgeting nervously, often times opening his mouth as if to speak, but never saying anything. He had so much he needed to tell this silent child, but he had no idea of how to go about saying it. He had never had a serious conversation with Lucian's father; most of the time he had spent with Chauvelin had included taunting and aggravating the man relentlessly, and Chauvelin getting so fed up, he would leave immediately leave or attempt to seduce Marguerite. And Lucian was so like Chauvelin. How was he to speak to this child when he didn't understand him or his father?

"It truly is beautiful here, just as you said, father." Lucian said gently, awestruck and spellbound by the verdant atmosphere, radiant and elision like a piece out of Heaven.

Percy breathed a sigh of relief; this huge pressure had been lifted from his shoulders as the burden of breaking the awkward silence was no longer his. And the fact that the silent Lucian had been the one to disturb the quiet was astounding; perhaps he, too, was attempting to breech the impenetrable wall that the years had built between them. After all, children are so often more willing to forgive and forget then adults.

"That it is." _Alright, now or never, Percy. _"Umm…Lucian? May I…may I speak with you?"

Lucian didn't respond, but looked up at Percy with wide, inquiring eyes.

"Listen, Lucian. About the other day. I'm…I'm sorry for teasing you, and I'm sorry if I hurt you. That certainly wasn't my intent." No response. Percy clasped his hands in front of him, trying very hard to avoid displaying any signs of nervousness. What else could he possibly say? Still no word from the child next to him. Dear Lord, what if Lucian didn't accept his apology? What if he already hated him so much for all that he had done that he could never build the sort of relationship with Lucian that he had with Blake? The silence was nearly deafening, and Percy could not stand it a second longer.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Lucian said softly in that sweet, calm voice of his "Dad? May I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Luc. Anything." Percy breathed another sigh of relief; perhaps Lucian did forgive him.

"You are not an idiot, father. Why do you act like one?"

Percy couldn't help but laugh slightly. For an eight year old, the child was remarkably perceptive. "Well, when I was a child, I had all of these ideas running through my head, but I could never properly articulate them. So though I may have understood something, when I tried to talk about it, I couldn't express my ideas coherently, so I sounded awfully stupid. My professors, my peers and just about everyone else took it as a lack of understanding and they quickly deemed me an idiot. It wasn't long before I was known throughout England for being completely daft."

"But you weren't!" Lucian cried. "Why didn't you fight to prove them wrong?"

"Because for a while, I believed it myself. I acted like an absolute moron, because that's what they expected me to do. After all, I was known to be the biggest fool in England. When I finally learned to voice my thoughts properly and intelligently, acting like the worst of fops had become a habit. And it's endlessly amusing."

"So, you just do it because that's what people expect?" Lucian said slowly.

"Yes, that's about it."

"But why? You can change it!"

"Yes, but…here's what I've learned about people. They believe what they want to. Once they have an idea, that notion sticks. If someone does something out of the people's expectations, they just don't see it. And so my reputation as a brainless fop stays. May as well play along."

"I…I really don't think you're stupid, father." Lucian said quietly as he lightly leaned his head against Percy's arm. "May I ask you another question, father?"

"Yes, of course."

"Why do you love Blake more then me?"

Percy tensed; the child was terribly blunt, and it hurt to hear the question. How could he answer something like that? "I don't love Blake more then you, Luc." Percy finally said after a long period of silence. "I…I understand him better, I suppose. He has the same problems I had as a child. He's smart, but he can't express himself like you can, so he acts the idiot just as I did. He needs more help then you do. He's much more dependent then you ever were. I do tend to spend more time with him, but I love you just the same."

"You brought him to France even though I wanted to go. Why?"

_Oh Great. How do I answer that? _"Blake needed to spend some time with me, and your mother likes to have you near her. In all honesty, I don't have a legitimate excuse for that, Luc."

Another moment of silence. These were getting increasingly more tense, and Percy wasn't sure how many more of these he could take. Lucian never spoke, and Blake never shut up; why couldn't he have a normal child?

Lucian laid his head down on Percy's lap and scooted in closer to the man. "Blake's not the only one who needs you, father." he said quietly, his normally even voice quivering slightly as he fought tears.

Percy's heart broke as he watched the child. He had seriously misjudged the boy; he often forgot that Lucian was not just Chauvelin's child, but Marguerite's as well. His silence, his cold demeanor, were probably just defenses and protection for this terribly sweet side of him that Percy was witnessing now. Percy knew this side all too well; Marguerite was exactly like this.

He gently gathered the boy into his arms and held Lucian's head to his chest, running his fingers through his golden hair and softly kissing the top of his head. "Forgive your foolish father, Lucian. I do love you."

Percy took this moment of silence as acceptance and held Lucian tighter; he may have just torn down the wall between them and went so far as to believe that he may have begun to thaw the ice that the introverted child had built around himself. It wasn't Lucian's fault that his father had been Percy's worst enemy. He had been a terrible father to the illegitimate child, and it seemed as though it nearly destroyed the boy; he'd be damned if he let something like this happen again. He owed this to Marguerite and to Chauvelin's memory; after all, it was his fault that the agent was dead and his son was robbed of his father. It was his responsibility to be a father to Lucian, as he had stolen his real one from him; he would not renege on his duties again.

"Father, may we do this again sometime?" Lucian asked timidly but happily.

"Of course, son! Anytime you wish."

"Really? Can…can we do it every week?"

"And more often if you like. But I think we must be off. After all, we do have a party to get ready for, what?"

Lucian smiled shyly up at his father and nodded slightly. Percy gently picked the boy up and gently placed him on the ground. "Come along now, Luc." Percy said as he slowly made his way across the spacious lawns toward the front gate.

Lucian stood still for a moment and looked at the receding figure of his father in adoration before he quickly dashed to Percy's side and threw his arms around his waist, stopping the man immediately. "Thank you, father!"

Percy smiled down at the elated child and took him up in his arms again, gently kissing his cheek. "It is I who should be thanking you, my boy."

Again the boy did not respond, but no words were needed. Percy and Lucian had come to an understanding, an inexplicable peace that suddenly came into existence through all of the tension and pain that once existed between them. The two returned to the family, both smiling happily the whole way back.

* * *

The talk with his father had put Lucian in a better then average mood. Despite the fact that the second he stepped through the doors of the king's palace he was immediately surrounded with people, he remained remarkably amiable. And no one enjoyed this blatant change in Lucian more then Allison. He didn't step away when she came near, he didn't glare at her when she followed him, and he actually spoke more then two words to her. The world could have ended right then and there, and Allison Ffoulkes would have died happy.

After dinner had been served, everyone retired from the dining room to engage in conversation with friends not seen for years, or congregated in the ballroom, dancing to whatever tune the orchestra played. And as the night moved on, as so commonly happens at formal gatherings, the children became bored.

The Blakeney, Dewhurst, and Ffoulkes children were lazily spread out across the king's spacious library, draped over various pieces of furniture and doing nothing at all. "There must be something we can do." Tony's six-year-old son, Acton, whined.

"It's the king's palace, Acton." Ellison Ffoulkes said tiredly. "That means no causing trouble, and no breaking anything. And what does that leave us to do?"

"Absolutely nothing!" Blake said in frustration.

"You're forgetting something, boys." Lucian said quietly. "We can do anything we want, provided that we don't get caught. If they don't see us, it doesn't count."

"Capital idea, brother!" Blake shouted much louder then necessary. "What shall we do?"

Lucian stared blankly at his brother for a long moment before turning away and heading toward the hallway, impassively saying "I have no idea."

"Ugh! This is damned useless!"

"Brother, watch your language." Helouise scolded, shaking her finger menacingly at the older boy.

"We have to do something!" Acton shouted.

As the room erupted with the shouts of the terribly bored children, Lucian was struck with an idea and slipped out of the room. In the hallway, he caught sight of a servant carrying a tray in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, and he quickly ran to catch up with the man, grabbing a ceramic vase off a table as he ran past. He silently crept behind him, and when the man was occupied, Lucian managed to slip the bottle out of the servant's hand and quickly replace it with the vase. Satisfied that the servant didn't notice anything, the boy ran back to the library.

Lucian entered and was bombarded by the incoherent ramblings and whining of seven terribly bored children. He climbed upon one of the sofas that Blake stood near, quickly uncorked the bottle and poured a quarter of the contents over his brother's head.

Blake stammered and stuttered in disbelief for a few short seconds before he could pull his wits together and jump away. "What was that for, Lucian?" Blake shouted, not angry, but certainly flustered.

"To shut you all up, and my endeavors were successful." Lucian said coldly. "Listen. This is the king's palace, so we really can't mess anything up. But we can learn about things we know nothing of."

"Like what, Luc?" Helouise asked sweetly.

"Like being adults. Look, it won't be long before we are adults. And it will be shameful if we can't act like them, so we better start learning now."

"Lucian, we are not much different from our parents." Ellison quietly pointed out.

"Right, but there are some major differences that separate us from them."

Acton excitedly jumped up and down and cried "Oh! They are bigger!"

"Right, but I don't really think that we can practice getting bigger, so that's out."

"They get married." Allison said quietly.

"Yes, that too. I think we can pull off the marriage thing. It can't be all that hard to do."

"They have children!" Tambre cried, giggling excitedly.

Lucian rolled his eyes. "Yes, but children don't happen unless your married, so that doesn't count. What else?"

The room was silent. The children looked at each other inquisitively; they didn't know anything else. Lucian exhaled in frustration. "Ok, here's what makes grown-ups different from us." he said knowingly, authoritatively, as he paced around the room and counting on his fingers. "One, they're bigger. Two, they're married. Three, sometimes they make funny noises in the night, and four, they drink this stuff." he concluded, holding up the bottle. "We need practice. One of us will drink, one will supervise everything, and the rest will get married. We need to divide up the work."

"Can I marry Helouise?" Acton asked shyly.

"No. She will be the priest." Lucian said coldly. "Ellison, you marry Tacey, Blake will marry Allison, and Acton will marry Tambre."

"But she's my sister!" Acton whined.

"It's alright. Kings do that sort of thing all the time." Lucian reassured. "Helouise, go get them married."

Helouise, being six, hadn't the faintest idea of how people were married. She arranged the couples as she saw fit, took a book off the shelf, and had the male partner kneel before his "bride". She slowly, regally, approached the first pair, Ellison and Tacey. She slowly ran her hand over the book, and in a sweet, musical voice proclaimed "I now announce you two grown-ups married" before she raised the book and brought it down with all her strength upon Ellison's head. Blake and Acton paled as the young Ffoulkes was knocked to the ground, and the sweet Helouise, wielding a very large book, approached the next couple in line.

The three boys sat clutching and rubbing their heads in pain as Helouise declared the ceremony officially over. "So, do you feel any different?" Lucian asked curiously.

"Yes." Blake said, glaring at the older boy. "My head hurts."

"Other then that, you dolt."

"No, not really."

"Huh." Lucian sat back and, very adult-like, contemplated the failure of the proposed situation. "Maybe we did something wrong."

"When do the babies come, Luc?" Helouise asked quietly.

"Not yet." Lucian said with infinite knowledge. "The girls have to get fat first. When they're properly fat, the doctor will give them one."

The girls were outraged. "I don't want to get fat!" Tacey and Tambre cried in unison.

"We're not experimenting with children now. Calm down." Lucian said impassively as he examined the bottle in his hand and lifted it to his lips.

"Why don't you feel different?" Helouise asked Allison, gently feeling her forehead.

"I don't know. Maybe you can't play marriage." Allison said quietly.

"No, maybe not."

While the group was perplexed over why marriage didn't feel any different form normal, Lucian was in a corner discovering wine. He wasn't sure he liked it; it was slightly bitter and it didn't taste anything like he thought it would. He slowly drank some more, convincing himself that perhaps it would taste better after he got used to it.

Drinking more of the substance in short intervals over the course of ten minutes, he decided that the taste didn't improve at all, but he was beginning to feel a bit light headed and a warm, tingling feeling spread throughout his body. He didn't like the way it tasted, but he liked the way it made him feel. He looked lazily over at the other children, all of them clamoring about, trying in vain to figure out what they did wrong, and Lucian lifted the bottle to his lips again.

His eyes widened in minor shock and disappointment; the bottle was a little less then halfway full. He stood slowly and, clutching the bottle and swaying slightly, walked out of the library and ventured downstairs in search of more of the miracle substance.

Lucian slowly weaved his way through the crowd, laughing slightly as he went as the wine began to take a heaver toll on his young body. By the time he reached the kitchen doors, his vision was swimming and he was less then steady on his feet. He downed the last of the wine and dropped the bottle as he pushed open the door and staggered into the kitchen.

He instantly spotted several bottles of wine on the counters and smiled lazily as he grabbed a stool and pushed it to the counter and unsteadily stepped up and with shaky, imprecise hands, clutched one of the bottles and slid off the chair. Lucian uncorked the bottle and stumbled out of the kitchen, drinking from the decanter and heading out of the mansion.

When Helouise noticed that Lucian was gone, she raised hell, and within moments had the children organized and searching among the adults for her eldest brother. After an ungodly amount of time of searching frantically for the boy, the group of kids finally found Lucian draped over one of the stone benches in the garden, giggling softly and socking on the end of the empty bottle in his hand. "Lucian?" Helouise asked quietly, slowly approaching the giddy child. "Are you alright?"

Lucian turned hazy, unfocused eyes on the child approaching him. Was that his sister? He wasn't sure, but couldn't think of anyone else it could be. "Hello, Helouise." he slowly drawled, his speech heavily slurred. "I didn't know you had a twin sister…"

Helouise looked at her brother in confusion; it was unlike him to act even remotely like this.

Lucian slid off of the bench and on to the ground, keeping a death grip around the neck of the empty bottle. After several unsuccessful attempts at standing up, Lucian finally managed to climb unsteadily to his feet, swaying drastically and stumbling to maintain balance. "You should try that juice, boys." Lucian slurred to no one in particular as he staggered past the gaping kids, wobbling very unsteadily on shaky legs.

The kids could do nothing but stare in disbelief at the usually stoic child; that adult juice was obviously a very bad thing if it could reduce the emotionless Lucian to a Percy-like state. "I think we should follow him to make sure he doesn't hurt himself." Blake said quietly as the watched Lucian pitch over and crawl unsteadily along the ground. The kids slowly nodded in agreement and followed the tipsy boy at a distance, curiously watching the actions of the eldest Blakeney.

Percy was happily conversing with His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, when Blake pattered next to his father and gently pulled on his pant leg.

"Ah, Blake, my boy!" Percy exclaimed, far happier then usual. "Go get your brother. I don't believe that the prince has met the charming lad yet."

"I can't, father." Blake said in a hushed whisper, which immediately made his nearby mother begin to worry.

"What do you mean you can't?" Percy asked slowly, slightly concerned.

"You know the fountain out front, father?"

"Yes…"

"The big one?"

"Yes…"

"Lucian is sitting in it."

"What?"

"He's quite the good singer, father, but nothing he says makes any sense."

Marguerite instantly turned to rush out the door, but just as she began to move, Helouise walked in, trying in vain to support a very unstable and thoroughly soaked Lucian. "Mother…" he whispered shakily. "I don't feel well." He swayed slightly on the spot he stood before pitching sideways, his mother catching him just before he hit the ground.

Marguerite was visibly panicking as she shook the child in her arms, but her son was out cold. "He threw up. Mommy." Helouise said softly. "I think the grown up juice made him sick."

Marguerite paled, and Percy frowned knowingly. "Grown up juice, hmm?"

"He drank a lot of it, father!" Blake added under his breath.

Percy could do nothing but slap his forehead. "Fantastic. We leave the boy alone for an hour and he drinks himself in to a stupor. Last thing I need is an eight year old son that somehow managed to get drunk off his ass." Percy bowed respectfully to the prince. "Forgive me, Highness, but it seems as if my family must call me away form you. Do send my respects to your mother and father."

"Will do, Percy." the prince said as he bowed slightly and left the lord alone with his wife and children.

"Come, Marguerite. Let's get the drunkard home." Marguerite nodded slightly and cradled the unconscious boy close to her and soon enough, the Blakeney family was on their way home to Richmond.

* * *

Lucian woke up with a terrible headache and the afternoon sun blaring in his face. Groaning, he tightly shut his eyes and turned over, pulling the blankets over his head in an attempt to block out the light. Yet either way, his head was in anguish. He slowly opened his eyes again, trying in vain to adjust to the light so his head didn't hurt even worse.

He carefully slid out of bed, but quickly regretted it as each step he took seemed to drive a pick into the back of his skull. He dropped to the ground, grimacing as his head complained at the speed he moved, but almost anything was preferable to walking.

Lucian was hungry, and his inability to move without excruciating pain was causing him limitless frustration. He settled on securing the most convenient form of transportation available to him in his current state; he yelled on top of his lungs for his mother.

Marguerite was at her son's side within minutes, gently stroking his head and whispering comforts to him as the boy whimpered in his mother's arms, his small hands pressed tightly against his ears. "My head hurts, mommy." he softly whined, burring his head against his mother's chest.

"I know, darling." Marguerite soothed. "Your father is a venerable expert at fixing headaches. Come. I'll take you to him." Marguerite gently lifted the boy and took him down to Percy, who was idly chatting with Andrew and Suzanne Ffoulkes.

"Ah, so the boy finally decides to wake up." Percy drawled lazily. "Have enough to drink last night, Luc?"

Lucian glared viciously at the man. "I have no idea what you're prattling about. I didn't drink anything."

"Sure you didn't. Memory loss is a common occurrence when one drinks as much as you did. Come with me, boy. Let's clear your head.

Percy took Lucian from Marguerite and for half an hour, the boy endured a rather stern lecture from his father as he was repeatedly dunked in cold water. After Lucian's head cleared, Percy effectively managed to punish him from his solitude and would be forced, for the next month, to endure every social function that Percy could find in England. Lucian pattered back to his mother and the visiting Ffoulkes family in a ridiculously foul mood; the headache was preferable to his father's lectures, to cold water and the involuntary servitude to social functions.

He climbed up into Marguerite's lap, ringing out his soaked shirt, and she held the boy close, running her hands through his wet hair and over his bare shoulders. "Feeling better, love?"

"Only physically, mother."

"Christ, Marguerite. Do you not feed the boy?" Andrew asked in slight shock.

"We do feed him, but he's picky."

Young Allison blushed slightly and hid behind her mother's skirts; the boy was terribly thin and she could see each of his ribs clearly. Yet this somehow only increased his allure and enhanced his beauty and she quickly found herself even more attracted to the silent boy.

Marguerite took the wet shirt form Lucian and placed him on the ground. "Go get yourself something to eat, Luc. Your physical condition is distressing our guests. And take Allison with you. I'm sure that she's hungry as well."

"Of course, mother." He tenderly took Allison's hand and gently tugged her in the direction of the kitchen. "Come, Mademoiselle."

Allison blushed further and shyly smiled at the beautiful boy, following his lead without a second thought.

"Oh! Lucian!" Marguerite called just before the pair disappeared around the corner. "We have a new chef. Do try to be nice to him."

Slight frustration crossed Lucian's face, but he nodded slightly to his mother and led Allison to the kitchen. He threw open to doors and strode inside in a business-like manner, the servants quickly moving out of his way as he approached the new chef.

Lucian frowned in disapproval as he went unnoticed by the chef and tugged impatiently at the man's apron to draw the cook's attention to him. He looked up into the man's eyes with an air of authority and sternly stated, "You are the new chef. State your name."

The chef was stunned, to say the least. He could only assume that this boy was the eldest Blakeney child, but he seemed quite unlike the other two. This child seemed cold, stoic, even harsh, while the others had been uncommonly kind. And those eyes! He had never seen their like; two golden orbs that burned with an intensity that seemed to gaze into his soul.

Lucian's eyes narrowed in anger; not only was the man staring like an idiot, he had ignored the demand that he had posed. "Your name, monsieur!" the child snapped harshly.

The man was quickly drawn out of his daze and quickly stammered "Jonathan. My name is Jonathan."

"My name is Lucian. I am the eldest Blakeney child. I thought that since you shall be serving my family from this point forward, you should know about my eating habits. My mother says I'm picky, and my father says I'm simply impossible, but the other chef did just fine. And I'll have you know that I have gone through fourteen chefs in the span of two months. I hope for your sake that you don't join the sorry souls that could not properly cater to me."

"I shall do my best to match up to your previous chef." Jonathan said timidly, slightly frightened of the boy. It seemed like this boy could be a horror story.

Lucian smiled slightly. "Everything I eat must be arranged on the plate in chromatic order, with red at the top and going clockwise from there. None of the food can be touching, and I will not eat anything that is orange. All fruit is to have the skin removed, and is to be cut into five equal pieces at angles of seventy-two degrees. Sandwiches must be symmetrical and the north, south, and west sides are to be cut off along the crust. Cookies are to be perfectly circular and have a diameter of five and three quarter inches. If there are any chocolate chips in it, there must be exactly twenty-three of them. Understand?"

Jonathan nodded slightly; this kid was a nutcase.

"That is the general stuff. If anything else comes up, I'll be sure to let you know. If you mess up, I will watch you make it correctly, and you don't want me doing that."

Jonathan weakly nodded and Lucian smiled happily. "Good!" he chirped. "Make me and Mademoiselle Ffoulkes a sandwich." After he said his piece, Lucian took Allison out of the kitchen and left the stunned chef to stare in disbelief and minor horror at the place where the child once stood.

"Lucian." Allison softly whispered as the golden child led her back to where their parents sat. "Why do you need to have everything like that when you eat?" she carefully asked, hoping that he would not take her inquiry as an invasion of his being like he so often did.

Lucian's gait slowed down as he considered the girl's question. "My mother says it's because I like to be in control of every aspect of my life. Father just thinks it's because I'm crazy."

"What do you think?"

"I just like things to be in order. I find chaos and disorder confusing and flustering. It makes my head hurt. Order is essential."

Allison smiled softly to herself; she suddenly felt as though she understood a bit about the indecipherable boy that she knew nothing about before this moment. She was led in silence the rest of the way to the sitting room where her mother and Marguerite sat speaking.

"Mother." Lucian said softly, instantly grabbing his mother's attention despite his quiet tone. "Forgive me for interrupting, but may I inquire as to where father would be? I have a matter of which I would like to discuss with him."

Marguerite smiled happily; Lucian and Percy have been butting heads since Lucian had learned to talk. Never once had the child asked for her husband. Perhaps the two had made peace. "I believe he is speaking with Andrew in his study."

"Ah. Very well. Thank you, mother." Lucian turned to Allison and gently took her hands in his, a soft, charming smile playing across his face. "It has been a pleasure talking to you, mademoiselle. Perhaps we shall do it again sometime soon." He gently brushed his lips against her cheek before turning away and gracefully walking out of the room to meet his father.

Allison blushed furiously. She wasn't exactly sure what to make of Lucian's behavior; it was quite unlike him to speak more then two words, and they nearly had an entire conversation. And he never showed affection, and he had kissed her. Perhaps he was still affected by all of the drink he had the night before. Whatever the reason, Allison liked it, and she hoped beyond all reason that Lucian would remain this way. It was no secret that Allison had a case of little girl love for the beautiful golden boy, and it made her all too happy that he gave her a reason to believe that he may harbor some affection for her as well. Smiling happily, she skipped to her mother's side, her young heart nearly bursting with joy.

Lucian slowly entered his father's study; the room was often locked and he had only been within this room once before. Something about this room sent chills up his spine.

"Yes, Lucian. What can I do for you?" Percy asked warmly as he saw the boy enter, his conversation with Andrew stopping immediately.

"I merely wanted to ask something of you, father." Lucian said quietly, his wide, golden eyes drifting about the walls, looking curiously for some sign of what he knew his father was hiding from him.

"Ask away, my boy!" Percy loudly declared, causing the child to wince slightly.

Lucian took his eyes away from the walls and looked into Percy's face. "Father, I want to learn how to fence."

Percy looked at Marguerite's illegitimate son with absolute stupidity plastered on his face. Where had that come from? He cleared his throat and quickly regained his composure. "Whatever do you want to fence for, Luc? You'll never have any use for it. Fighting is for the lower classes, my boy."

"Maybe so, but I wish to learn."

"No, no. You're far too young." _Not to mention that your father was wickedly good with a sword. _Percy braced himself for the violent retaliation from the boy like was so often his habit, yet it never came.

Lucian simply shrugged his shoulders and quietly, respectfully stated, "Very well, father" before turning and leaving a rather shocked Percy to mull over the child's strange behavior.

Lucian made his way back to his room and crawled under his bed. He hooked his finger through a hole in the planks and lifted up one of the floorboards, removing a box form the small space in the floor. He pushed the box and himself out from under the bed and picked himself up, brushed himself off, and knelt beside the pile of clothing that he had worn the night before. He rummaged through the pile and removed his jacket and quickly patted it down and removed the flag from his inside pocket.

Lucian gently ran his fingers over the satin material and clutched it close to his body. It didn't matter what his father said. He would learn to fence, he had already settled on that. It was just a matter of formal training versus being self-taught. The martyr Chauvelin was an incredible fencer, and he vowed that he would be as well. All he had to do was wait; word and stories of the man would come to England in time. All he needed to do was pick up everything as it came. Emulate his manner, his speech, his fighting style; he could learn it all. It would all come to him.

Lucian gently folded the flag and placed it in the box and securely fastened the lid, put the box back in its place under the floorboards and replaced the plank. Whether he was allowed to or not, Lucian would see that his training in the art of fencing began tomorrow, and he would make perfectly sure that no one stood in his way.


	3. Son Of The Saint

**First things first. I'M SORRY! I took way, WAY long to update this thing. Ugh. So I started an update update thingy on my profile page that I update a bunch so you can know the progress of the stuff I'm writing. This thing took so long to get up because I had way too many ideas for this thing. I originally wanted to do another chapter with kiddie goodness, but it seemed kind of like a filler, so I scrapped it. However, I do have it, and I think it's pretty funny, so if I get enough people who want to read it, I'll type it and stick it up here. Then I did about four drafts of this chapter before I came up with something I liked. So...here it is in all it's glory. I really hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Oh, and don't hesitate to leave me reviews, or send an e-mail or something telling me what you liked, what you didn't, and that sort of stuff. I really love it and it helps me write this stuff. One more thing. I do a bit of a background thing on Chauvie in this one. I am well aware that he was an aristocrat in the books and movies, but he never struck me as being one in the musical. And after SP1, Madame Guillotine became a Chauvie solo. And he ain't going to know the gutters and the stink of the streets if he's an aristo. Hence, my justification that he grew up not wealthy. I'm writing a Chauvie life story, and that's what it's based on. So there.**

**Disclaimer: I own Lucian, and Mercier and Coupeau's personalities. Shadow131 is the proud owner of Andre. I love him. I'd glomp him, but he'd probably have a heart attack. The rest isn't mine for multiple reasons, the first being I'm not the genius that came up with the Scarlet Pimpernel.**

**Soon The Moon Will Smoulder**

**Chapter 3: Son Of The Saint**

_England, 1807_

"Lady Blakeney, two men wish your audience. Will you see them?"

Marguerite looked up from the book she held in slight confusion. She certainly was not expecting anyone, and could not for the life of her venture to guess whom it could possibly be. Gently closing the book and laying it on the table, she stood up and smoothed out her dress. "Of course. Send them in." Nodding, the servant turned and left to fetch Marguerite's visitors.

Marguerite slowly wandered toward the window and gazed softly out at the garden. She suddenly had a longing to go back and visit France. It had been fifteen years since she had been to the country of her birth and she was missing it dearly. However, she knew that going back now was an impossibility; within the past few years, Napoleon had transformed France into a powerful military state, making the country a feared enemy to most of Europe, England included. Napoleon's armies were fearfully victorious, already managing to conquer large parts of the continent and openly challenging all those who dared oppose him. No, France was not safe at the time.

A slight clearing of a throat pulled Marguerite out of her revere and she found herself alone in the room with two men in the uniforms of high-ranking officers of the Grand Army of France. The man bowed slightly in the stunned woman's direction. "Mademoiselle St. Just, it has been entirely too long since we have seen you last. How have you been these past fifteen years?"

Marguerite relaxed immediately. These men were no friends of hers, but they were far from strangers. "Mercier, Coupeau. This is an unexpected surprise! What are you doing here?"

"Merely come to see how you are doing." Coupeau said softly.

"That's terribly sweet." Marguerite said, smiling warmly at the two soldiers. "I've been well. Busy, but well. My children are a handful. All three are more or less insane. They get it from their father. Enough of me," she said gleefully, clasping the men's hands in her own, "how have you been?"

"I wish that we could say that we are as well as you, Madame."

"We have been terribly stressed as of late," Mercier said tiredly.

"Oh dear. What has been happening?" Marguerite asked, slightly concerned.

"Nothing too terrible." Coupeau answered. "Napoleon has been having some reasonably nasty fits as of late. His war effort is costing a great deal of money and he is running out of funding very quickly. What's really upsetting him is that he cannot touch the largest sum of money in all of France."

"Why is that?" Marguerite asked curiously. "He is emperor. Can he not do as he wishes?"

"You would think, but the Catholic Church, as much as they fear him, refuses to budge on this matter," Mercier said shortly, slightly irritated.

"I trust you remember our dear friend Chauvelin?" Coupeau asked softly.

"Of course." Marguerite said in barley a whisper. "He is a very difficult man to forget, even after all this time."

And the fact that Marguerite was raising the former agent's son was not helping her in the least to forget the man. Now fourteen years old and bearing a striking resemblance to his father, all young Lucian ever spoke about with his mother was the Saint Chauvelin, and the ideals and the flaws of the French Revolution. The child had spent the past six years in near isolation, studying the Revolution nearly religiously and analyzing every event, every person, and every flaw in the regime that caused the Republic to fail, the extent of his knowledge lost to his parents. He also spent a good deal of his time studying weaponry and swordplay, using the most efficient and advantageous aspects of the multiple styles he studied to create his own method of fighting that was faster, more accurate, and therefore more deadly then any other style he knew.

Sighing slightly, Marguerite sat on the sofa and motioned for the two men to do the same. "Why bring up Chauvelin now, monsieur?" Marguerite asked quietly.

"Madame, this enormous amount of wealth that Napoleon cannot touch belongs to him."

"What? How is that even possible, Coupeau?" Marguerite asked in complete shock.

"First of all, the Revolution made him an incredibly wealthy man. He held a position of power. No matter how equal the government, the ones in power will always be better off then the average man," Mercier said stoically.

"And he became that rich from the Revolution? Christ, that's impossible!"

"I would have to agree with you, Madame. That is quite impossible." Coupeau said softly. "He was wealthy far before the Revolution. He started his own personal vengeance against the aristocracy before he was twenty, far before the people even entertained the notion of rebelling. That little vendetta of his wiped out entire noble families and made him immensely wealthy as a result."

"I don't understand," Marguerite said, completely dazed. "He never appeared to be rich."

"Of course not. You've seen how he lived. He only owned what was essential to live, and no more than that. You know better then any that he was extremely possessive. That applies to his fortune as well. He wasn't born a rich man, and he suddenly became one. I think he was afraid of losing it all, so he hoarded it and never touched it."

"I have one more question," Marguerite asked slowly. "Chauvelin has been dead for fifteen years. What's stopping Napoleon from just taking what he wants?"

"Ah." Coupeau leaned back against the sofa, chuckling softly. "Chauvelin's a cunning bastard. After his death, the Committee sent us and Chauvelin's young assistant, Andre Madeline, to go through his office and home to look for documents, tools, anything that may further aid the Revolution. We happened upon Chauvelin's will, Madame. The man willed everything he owned, his estate, his weaponry, his estate, everything, to his children. Since he had none, that money is now untouchable by law. Either way, Napoleon could have gotten his way, but then Chauvelin was made a saint, and his will and possessions are now protected by the church. Napoleon recognizes that the church is a powerful ally, and an even more powerful enemy. To defy church sanction would be to turn the church and the majority of France against him, and he will lose. Does that make sense, Madame?"

"Mother!"

Marguerite slightly jumped and tensed more then she already was at the sound of the silken voice, the slamming of the door, and the soft foot falls of the child's feet upon the wood floor as he swiftly walked closer.

Lucian quickly turned the corner and stepped into the room, but stopped suddenly as he saw his mother sitting upon the sofa with two men he had never seen before. Instantly bringing his guard up, he walked carefully into the room, his gold, falcon-like eyes quickly running over the startled features of the strangers. "Mother," he said cautiously, "I wished to speak with you, but I trust that you are too occupied to see me. Am I correct in my assumption?"

"No, no Luc! Not at all!" Marguerite cried happily, quickly jumping up from her seat and crossing the room to meet her son. "What is it I can do for you, mon cherie?"

"Who are those men, Mother?" Lucian asked in a whisper, throwing the now standing men a dangerous glare, causing the soldiers to visibly tremble.

"They are Mercier and Coupeau, friends of mine from France."

"Really?" Lucian asked, clearly interested, as he gracefully stepped around his mother and approached the men. "Good Afternoon, Citizens." Lucian said softly as he bowed slightly, never losing eye contact with Coupeau. "You men are soldiers in Napoleons army, yes?"

"We are," Mercier said weakly.

"May I ask what you men think of your Grand General?"

"He is a great leader who has done great things for France," Mercier replied, stronger and more confident then before.

"Wrong, Citizen!" Lucian snapped, tearing his gaze from Coupeau and locking his falcon-like gaze with Mercier's suddenly frightened eyes. "Do you not remember that for a brief time you were free and equal? The Revolution did that for you. And what does Napoleon do? He proclaims himself Emperor. Well, congratulations, people of France. You have a king again. What about all of the lives that were taken during the Revolution? Were all those people to die in vain? France shames herself. You have a revolution to overthrow the oppressive monarchy, and when the time comes to institute a new government, what do you do? You institute a monarchy. Napoleon single-handedly let the lives of the dead go to waste. And you call this tyrant the savior of France? Disgusting."

"Lucian!" Marguerite cried in shock at her son. "Good Englishmen do not try to provoke guests! Apologize to these good gentlemen!"

"I have spoken my mind and the truth, and for that I owe no apology." Lucian said coldly as he turned away from the men and approached his mother. "However, at your request, I shall refrain from further lecturing these good men on the quality of their morals."

"You will forgive my son." Marguerite said apologetically as she gently ran her fingers through Lucian's hair. "He speaks his heart without a thought to hold his tongue."

"Madame, there is nothing to forgive," Mercier said quietly, clearly shaken.

"Mother, I am in need of new weaponry," Lucian said softly in a business-like manner.

"Luc, what happened to all your other weapons?" Marguerite asked sternly. "If you keep this up, your father is going to think you are up to something."

Lucian tensed a bit and quickly shot a glance behind him at the two soldiers, who were now standing much closer to him and his mother then before, both men wide eyed and gaping. "Mother, my current arsenal lacks diversity." He said impatiently, quickly turning and facing Marguerite, but casting frequent, irritated glares at the two men.

"What do you need diversity for, Luc?" Marguerite said, laughing slightly at her son's seemingly ridiculous demands.

"There is no bloody point to be sufficiently good with only one weapon, Mother!" Lucian cried, becoming increasingly agitated at the proximity of the two soldiers. "I need to be the best, and I can only be so if I am proficient with everything." Lucian quickly and suddenly reeled on the soldiers standing behind him. "Keep staring, monsieurs. I may do a trick." The boy snarled and, trembling, the men fell back, muttering frantic and hasty apologies. Calming down instantly, Lucian turned back around and bowed slightly toward Marguerite. "Do think on my proposal, Mother. I do not ask for anything I do not need." He said softly as he walked out of the room and disappeared down the corridor.

The three adults watched the boy leave, and for a long while after he left, they remained in absolute silence, Mercier and Coupeau shocked beyond speech, and Marguerite awkwardly running her fingers over her palm.

"Mademoiselle?" Mercier asked in a soft, shaking voice. "Your son…how old is he?"

Marguerite tensed, her breath catching in her throat. They knew! Swallowing and breathing deeply, she stayed with her back turned toward the men and gently whispered, "Fourteen."

Coupeau groaned softly and whispered inaudibly under his breath, but Mercier's initial shock and disbelief melted away into mild anger at the woman before him. "Madame," he whispered nearly dangerously, "why did you not inform us earlier that you gave birth to Chauvelin's son?"

"Chauvelin has no children, monsieur." Marguerite whispered in a voice that betrayed no confidence. "Lucian is mine and my husband's first child."

Who do you think you are fooling, Marguerite?" Mercier shouted, his quiet and calm falling away instantly. "The boy looks exactly like him! And if that was not enough, explain your boy's eyes. I have never seen their like except in Chauvelin. Swear to God Above right now that your boy is not Chauvelin's son! Go on! Damn yourself!"

Marguerite stood still, each word striking her harder then the last until silent tears fell from her deep blue eyes, and she could not bring herself to deny what the man correctly assumed.

Coupeau carefully approached the sobbing woman and gently wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to lay her head against his chest and freely weep.

"Is that it then?" Mercier asked quietly. "Nothing?" He sat back down on the sofa and leaned back, running his hands over his face. "Chauvelin has a son."

Coupeau gently turned Marguerite's face up so he could look her in the eyes. "Madame, that boy is Chauvelin's son?" he asked gently, a soft smile playing upon his lips as his thumbs wiped the tears from Marguerite's face as she nodded in response. "Who knows?"

"My husband." Marguerite said quietly, sniffling slightly and rubbing her eyes.

"That's all?" Coupeau asked in surprise.

"And you two now, but other then that, no, no one else. Why?"

"I don't know. I suppose I'm a bit surprised that no one else has noticed. It's quite obvious to me that he is not your husband's child. But, then again, he does look quite a bit like you, so I see how you were able to pass him off as the baronet's son. You are fortunate he is blonde."

Coupeau paused for a moment, running over all of the questions that he longed to ask the woman he was holding. He and Mercier had been as close to being Chauvelin's friends then anyone else, and now that same man had a child. Marguerite could not possibly know how much her son would change things. The son of a saint, Lucian. He may as well be a god; the people of France have for years been telling stories of the second coming of Chauvelin, when the agent would return to the people stronger then before to finish what he started and bring justice to France. This child had worship waiting for him in the country across the Channel. "Does your son know that Chauvelin is his father?"

Marguerite quickly pulled away from the man. "No! Lucian must never know. No one must ever know! We have done everything in our power to keep him from Chauvelin and his memory. Saint or no, Chauvelin was a killer. I don't want my son to travel down that same path. We have even kept him from France to keep him from becoming like his father."

"I think you have failed in that respect, Madame." Mercier said, getting up and coming to stand beside his friend. "That little speech of his earlier sounded exactly like something Chauvelin would have said had he been alive today. But we shall respect your wishes. No one will know of your son. Your secret is safe with us."

"Ah! Madame, your son has just inherited an insane amount of money!" Coupeau exclaimed, startling the other occupants of the room. "Everything that Chauvelin ever owned now belongs to that boy. He shall have to receive it."

"Oh. How shall we go about doing that?"

"Andre Madeline, Chauvelin's old assistant, is in possession of his will. He's a lawyer now. Just bring the boy with you on your next excursion to France, and we'll escort you to see Andre. He'll sort it all out."

Marguerite slowly shook her head. "I'm afraid I can't do that. I will not allow my son to go to France."

"But Madame…"

"No. I've worked too hard to keep him isolated. Lucian will remain here in England, away from the memory of his father."

"I understand," Coupeau said, sighing heavily.

"We have taken up enough of your time, Madame." Mercier said as he bowed and kissed her hand. "I thank you for having us, and I hope to see you soon again."

"Marguerite, please, if you ever change your mind, remember that your son has a fortune waiting for him in France."

"Of course. Allow me to walk you out." Marguerite said softly, stepping in front of the soldiers and leading them out of the room.

The footsteps of the three adults had long ago died and the manor seemed to lapse into deafening silence, yet Lucian remained unmoving in the alcove he so often used as a child, his back flat against the far wall, his eyes wide and unblinking, hardly breathing at all. All that he had heard simply could not be true. His father. Percy Blakeney, his father. The man that he had grown up with was his father. He couldn't have heard correctly. Perhaps he had not heard anything at all, perhaps he imagined it all. But the more he tried to convince himself, the louder that voice in the back of his mind echoed, "You are Chauvelin's son."

Lucian softly cried in anguish as he sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands; he was suddenly light-headed, nauseous, and every inch of his body ached. The man he thought was his father, the man who raised him, a man that he looked up to, but often hated, was not his father. And the Saint Chauvelin, the man he had spent the last six years learning about and emulating, that shadow who he yearned to be like; he was his son. It didn't make any sense.

How often did he wish, pray, pretend that the fearless agent was his father instead of the foppish baronet? He should be thrilled by the news, ecstatic that he was not related to the man who hardly paid him attention. Instead, unwanted tears ran down his face and he wanted to vomit. This was all too much.

But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made; why he was forbidden to go to France, why the baronet loved his other son more then him, why he always saw hurt and betrayal in his "father's" eyes when he looked at him. Percy had always favored Blake, and now it made sense. Blake was his first son. Of course Percy would treat him better, love him more.

It had been in this hidden room that Lucian had first heard of the agent, and it was here again that his life would be changed drastically by Chauvelin. His father. He never knew him, but he suddenly felt the loss as if he had known him his whole life, like he should have. And now, the chance to ever get to know the man he was supposedly taking after was robbed from him by…by whom? Lucian quickly sifted through his mind for that one piece of information that he knew by heart mere hours before. Oh, he couldn't think at all.

The golden eyes suddenly narrowed and his face darkened as all of his previous anguish and confusion melted away as rage filled his body. The Scarlet Pimpernel. That damned elusive English hero had murdered his father. The British worshipped this man who stole the agent's life from him. And these people raised him; the mere thought made him sick. Raised by people who basked in the light of a killer.

And his so-called parents were no better. They had lied to him. His entire life, they had lied to him. He expected such from his worthless "father", but his mother, his beloved mother had lied to him too. He couldn't trust them. Never again. Their words would be taken with extreme discretion. They could not be trusted.

His mother…she married the baronet, and then gave herself to another man. Lucian shuddered; she was nothing more then a common whore. And he was the result. An illegitimate bastard because his mother was a whore. But had she not said that she loved Chauvelin? Yes, he clearly remembered that she had said that. Why then marry the baronet if her heart belonged to another? Lucian trembled slightly in rage. Percy must have stolen his mother from his father. He could see no other way any of this could make sense.

The golden boy snarled as he organized his thoughts; his father was not the baronet Percy Blakeney like he thought. His father was in fact the Agent Chauvelin, the French hero and saint. His mother had loved the agent, but the baronet had stolen her from his father, forcing his mother to sink to the level of a common whore to be with the man she loved. Then the English hero, the Scarlet Pimpernel, murdered the agent, and his mother was forced to return to her husband. Lucian sneered as he concluded and began to leave his hide out; love was quite clearly pointless, a waste of time, and, frankly, he was beginning to doubt it's existence.

Lucian crawled out of his alcove into the hall, sealing the entrance of the passage as he left. His task seemed clear; he had to take revenge on the Scarlet Pimpernel and Percy Blakeney, one for his father's murder, and the other for taking his mother from the agent. Of course, to do this now would be foolish; he had no idea who the Pimpernel was, and he could not kill these people in the name of his father when he didn't know the man. Though he knew everything about Chauvelin the Saint, he knew nothing of Chauvelin the man. He couldn't call himself his son unless he knew who his father was. Then he would seek his revenge.

A plan, he needed a plan. He would stay in England for a while longer; this miserable country still held use for him. Discover where Chauvelin's associates, friends, offices, anything, could be found in France. Find a lead on the Pimpernel, which would probably direct him to France. The English, ironically, knew even less about the damned elusive then any other nationality. The French probably knew more, which wasn't saying much, but at least it was something. When that was done, he would then leave for his country; after all, he was French, through and through.

Lucian grinned maliciously; all of this seemed too easy. He already had four names from which he could draw information regarding his father: the soldiers Mercier and Coupeau, and the lawyer Andre Madeline. All located in France, all he had to do was locate them. That was simple. And the last of his precious sources was none other then his own, dear mother. She had been intimate with the man. She clearly knew more then anyone. Imagine, his prime source was always within reach. His mother would aid him in his revenge against her husband. Oh, the irony of it was marvelous!

Find out all he could from his mother. Easy. Lucian held the lovely woman in the palm of his hand. The rest would fall into place on its own. Satisfied with his plans for the moment, young Lucian Chauvelin swaggered off with an air of cruel determination and confidence to find his darling mother, suddenly a very different person then he was earlier that very same day.


	4. The Roots Of Evil

**Long time no update, what? Oh well. This is a long one, so hopefully it will make up for it. It's also a boring one, but we'll ignore that. Assume that the next few chapters are going to be like this one. I gotta establish relationships now so it doesn't take away from the coolness that will come later. So, here it is. And I cannot thank you guys enough for reviewing. Really, I would have stopped a long time ago had I not had them. So yes, I am becoming a bit of a review whore, but I love them so much! Anywho, I am already well into the next chapter, as I know exactly what I want to have in that one, so expect a quick update. Please, review! I love it so much! And I do need some feedback on how the pacing is. And on the character dynamic. SO if you wouldn't mind too terribly, let me know what you think of it. Ok, enough rambling. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Scarlet Pimpernel. Or Chauvelin. Or Andre, he belongs to Emily / Night Shadow 131. But I do own Lucian. Back off.**

**Soon the Moon Will Smoulder**

**Chapter 4: The Roots Of Evil**

Lucian quickly strode down the hall, peering into each room as he passed them. He needed to find his mother; the lovely woman had quite a bit of explaining to do, and Lucian was more then willing to draw what he needed from her, and if need be, he would have little difficulty using a considerable amount of force. This was something he needed to hear about, without all of the lies and deception; it was time they came clean.

His hurried stride stopped instantly as he heard a multitude of voices coming from the main hall and he quickly became more irritated then he was previously. No doubt Percy had invited everyone he knew for another pointless visit. Breathing deeply and tensing considerably, Lucian trudged into the room and, lo and behold, found himself looking at a mess of Blakeney, Dewhurst, Ffoulkes and St. Just families. Sneering in distaste, he quickly turned around and sped out of the room, but stopped instantly with what he considered to be a brilliant idea. A slight, cruel smile played over the boy's face as he slowly made his way back into the room to make his presence known.

"Lud, speak of the devil! Demned clever boy, what? Almost as if he can read the mind, that son of mine," Sir Percy drawled in his lazy, foppish tone. Lucian glared coldly at Percy before bowing respectfully toward the adults in the room. "Sink me, boy! You are a perfect wreck! What happened to you?"

"All in good time, Lord Blakeney," the golden-eyed boy said quietly before turning his attention to Tony. "Lord Dewhurst. May I have your permission to speak to your daughters?"

"Of course," Tony said slowly, slightly taken aback by the boy's need to ask permission for such. What a strange boy.

"Thank you," Lucian said quietly before he went to fraternize with the Dewhurst twins, who were shamelessly flirting with a very flustered Gilles in the far corner of the room. "Good afternoon, ladies," Lucian said smoothly, smiling at the two girls who clung to his cousin.

Tacey and Tambre stared at the golden boy in shock; in all their lives, the beautiful boy had never spoken to them, lest to tell them to leave him alone. "Hello, Lucian," Tambre said softly, as though she did not believe that the eldest Blakeney son was actually speaking to her.

"I trust you beautiful young women are well," he said softly, gently taking the two girls' hands and gallantly kissing them. "Forgive me for interrupting your activities, but would you be willing to tear yourselves away from my so fortunate cousin and come on a walk with me?"

The twins looked in shock at the confident boy before them, but they both took his proffered arms. "Enchante, mademoiselles," the boy said softly, gently kissing their cheeks as he began to lead them away.

"What are you doing, Lucian?" Gilles cried after his cousin. The boy must have gone mad to voluntarily spend time alone with the flirtatious girls.

Lucian slowly stopped. How to turn this minor interruption to his advantage… "What, cousin?" Lucian asked innocently. "Are you upset at the departure of these ladies? I was under the impression that I was saving you by removing them from your presence."

"Really?"

"Of course, Gilles. Consider it a favor. You may repay me later." With that,Lucian turned and led the two young women away, leaving a thoroughly confused St. Just behind them.

The three walked in silence out to the gardens, the two girls leaning their heads against Lucian's shoulders, content just to be in the boy's company. "Now, ladies, I have a matter which I would like to speak to you two about, if you do not mind too terribly," Lucian said sweetly, breaking the silence as he wrapped his arms about the girls' slender waists and led them to a stone bench within the gardens.

"What is it, Lucian?" Tacey asked as she and her sister sat down and watched the beautiful boy stand before them, hands clenched tightly behind his back.

"Girls, have you heard anything of the Agent Chauvelin?"

"What, the saint?" Tacey asked playfully, laughter in her voice.

"The very same."

"Well, he's French," Tambre said indifferently, shrugging her shoulders. She finally had a chance to spend time with England's pretty boy, and he wanted to speak about dead people. Wonderful.

"Truth of the matter is we don't know much about him," Tacey said quietly, slightly apologetically.

"We're not really all that interested in the man. We generally stop listening when people begin talking about dead men," Tambre said in a bored tone as she lazily twirled a strand of light brown hair around her finger.

When the girl did not continue to speak and list the names as he wanted her to, Lucian became excessively angry and fixed a death grip on the suddenly frightened Tambre's upper arms. "Who talks of him?" Lucian said in a dangerously quite voice.

"I…I don't know. Everyone speaks about the martyr," Tambre stuttered, trembling in fear as she was forced to look into the boy's cruel, pale yellow eyes.

"Names, idiot!" Lucian shouted, losing any previous composure that he was implementing previously. "I want names!"

"Lucian, you…" Tacey stuttered in defense of her sister, but was silenced instantly by a vicious, falcon like glare.

"Lord Andrew and Lady Suzanne talk about him quite a lot. And my father! My father talks and tells stories as if he had met him!" Tambre said quickly in hopes of calming the enraged boy.

Lucian's mind temporarily ceased to function and quickly covered the shocked Tambre's face with kisses. "Oh, you brilliant woman!" the golden eyed boy moaned as he pulled away from the delighted girl and knelt before the girls, taking their hands in his own. "My beloved girls," Lucian sighed as he passionately kissed the girls' hands, "where have you been all my life?"

"Lucian," Tacey said quietly, blushing softly as she ran a hand through her hair, "does this mean that you…perhaps…like us?"

"Like you?" The child stared in mild shock at the blushing girl before he abandoned her sister's hand and left a trail of swift kisses up her arm, pausing at the pit of her neck. "Nay, madame, I am passionately in love with you girls." Lucian looked up at the furiously blushing and enamored girls and carefully weighed his next words. "Mademoiselles," he said quietly, softly kissing both of the delicate hands, "I need you girls to do me a favor of the utmost importance."

"Anything, Lucian," the girls said simultaneously, both breathing quickly and looking in hopeless adoration into his golden eyes.

"Tacey. Tambre. I need you two to find out all you can about the Agent Chauvelin for me. You say that your father acts like he knew him. Ask him. Pick his brain for anything pertaining to this man; looks, behavior, actions, anything. I beseech you, darlings, do this for me and I will be sure to secure for you anything your hearts desire."

"Do you mean it, Lucian?" Tacey asked excitedly, placing a death grip on the young man's hand.

"Absolutely, madame."

"Why do you want to know about Chauvelin, Lucian?" Tambre asked quietly, but quickly recoiled as a shadow fell over the boy's face and he suddenly seemed extremely sinister.

"That is my own business." Letting go of the twins' hands, Lucian stood up, gently brushing himself off. "Girls, this matter is strictly confidential, do you understand? No one, not your mother, your brother, your father, no one is to know what we are doing."

Tambre looked suspiciously at the suddenly impassive boy. "And what if we tell?"

Chuckling softly, Lucian leaned closer to the defiant and slightly frightened girl. "My dear, I am giving you a choice. You can agree to help me and keep this quiet and I shall reward you with anything you wish. I can put you on the highest throne of luxury and adoration, make you the envy of all of England. Or," he said quietly, his voice growing softer and all the more dangerous as he drew closer to the petrified girl, "you can speak to another about this matter, and I will make your life a living Hell. Every day, you will walk about and peer over your shoulder, look around every corner and behind every object in hopes of anticipating and avoiding whatever new horror I choose to set upon you. You will fear to be alone for the chance that I find you devoid of the protection of others. You will be afraid of sleeping for the threat of being assaulted when you are most helpless. You will jump at every shadow, cringe at every sound, shriek at every movement you catch out of the corner of your eye. Your life will be a nightmare, ma cherie, and you will not last. Before I am done with you, you will come to me on your knees, begging for death, pleading for me to end the torment. You make the choice. I will have your silence, mademoiselle, no matter the method."

Smiling sweetly, Lucian slowly ran his finger over the trembling Tambre's cheek. "Do we have a deal, ma amoure?"

"Yes, Lucian"

"Good girl." His keen gold eyes fell on Tacey and locked with her deep blue ones, causing her to shiver. "And you?"

"All we need to do is find all we can about the Saint Chauvelin?" Tacey asked cautiously, unwilling to incur the boy's wrath as her sister had.

"Precisely, madame."

"I can do that."

"Thank you, girls. I cannot begin to say what a service you are doing for me."

"Tacey! Tambre! We must make haste home!" Lord Dewhurst shouted from the manor.

"We must go, Lucian," Tacey said politely as she took her sister's arm. "We shall do all we can to discover what you desire."

"I thank you from the depths of my soul, girls, and I eagerly await the next time I may have the pleasure of seeing you," Lucian said smoothly, kissing their hands. "And girls!" he called as they began to leave. "Remember," he said, putting his finger to his lips, "it's a secret." Nodding quickly, the two girls left Lucian alone in the garden.

Sitting down on the bench, the boy buried his head in his hands, gently rocking back and forth. "I am the son of a saint." Not that this was a bad thing. He was simply attempting to come to terms with the idea. Though he would never admit it, the very foundations of Lucian's world had been disturbed and the boy was shaken.

Laughing slightly, he realized that he had grossly misjudged the Dewhurst twins. Only one of them was an idiot. Tacey could be easily manipulated, but Tambre was another matter. The girl was intelligent, and she questioned authority. Just his luck to have such an unfortunate personality in his service; thank God there were two of them. Because she was smart, Lucian only had a limited time to act and use Tambre to his advantage; that intellect of hers would have to be disposed of before she became a problem to the plan he was beginning to develop. He may have to make good on those threats after all.

Looking back on that incident, the boy shuddered. He was known to be cold and apt to make threats he could and would carry out if he wanted something badly enough, but what he did to poor Tambre was simply awful and quite unlike him, and quite frankly, Lucian was terrified that he was so capable of such behavior. Where had that come from? Lucian shook his head to clear his mind of such thoughts; he would have to keep that side of him in check, that was all. Nothing to worry about.

Andrew and Suzanne. The girls had mentioned them. What was the best way to get to them? Their son Ellison was out of the question. The young Lord Ffoulkes was growing up quite quickly, becoming a strapping model of chivalry and honesty, a paragon of virtue. And he had an intense dislike for Marguerite's eldest son, an inherent distrust of the smooth talking boy. No, he was to be avoided at all costs; the young lord had an incessantly annoying habit of prying in to Lucian's affairs, seemingly trying to discover viable evidence with which he could destroy the amorous attitude toward the venerable snake, the very illusions that Lucian had worked so hard to create.

However, Ellison's sister was another matter entirely. While the twins Tacey and Tambre had a minor infatuation with him, and any other creature devoid of female anatomy, for that matter, Allison Ffoulkes was genuinely in love with him. It was Lucian's natural inclination to put as much distance between himself and the love struck girl as possible, for everything about the emotion set the boy's nerves on edge. It was not the attention that, quite frankly, frightened him; he was used to such attention. It was the intensity that made him uneasy. He didn't understand it. There was no logic, no foundation; the entire feeling was reasonless and inexplicable. The unwavering loyalty, the mindless devotion…

Lucian's thoughts came to an abrupt halt. Why had he not seen it before? The entire concept of love was suddenly cast in a new light and became less of something to be avoided and more of a tool. What better implement of manipulation existed? Yes, young Allison suddenly became a valuable entity, an irreplaceable implement to Lucian's purpose; she would get him anything he asked without question.

"What are you doing, cousin?"

Though the voice was quiet, hardly audible, it tore Lucian from his thoughts and the boy, shocked beyond all belief at the sudden disembodied voice behind him, took off running at full speed in the opposite direction and did not stop until he was several hundred feet away.

Now at a safe distance, Lucian quickly turned around and faced the perpetrator who dared infringe on his solitude, finding none other then Gilles St. Just, idiot cousin and general damned nuisance. Snapping off a thin branch from a nearby tree, Lucian was off at full sprint again, this time toward his wide-eyed cousin.

"Lucian, what are you…"

"I'm going to kill you, you insignificant worm!"

Gilles had little time to react for no more then a second later, the golden child had tackled him to the ground, the branch hooked under Gilles' chin. "Gilles St. Just, you are a dead man. I am going to kill you. And when I finish that, I am going to cut you in to pieces and send a piece of you via post to every lord in England and France as a warning to those who dare invade my personal space."

"Lucian! Can't…breathe…"

Rolling his eyes, Lucian got off of the struggling boy and listlessly dropped the stick upon his cousin. Sitting upon the bench once again, he put his head in his hands in sheer agitation. "What do you want, Gilles?"

Gripping his head and rubbing his lower back, the young St. Just slowly stood up and sat beside his cousin. "I…I just wanted to thank you for ridding me of those girls. They are quite clingy and I do not know how you could bear their company for more then twenty seconds."

"Think nothing of it." Pausing slightly, he quickly added, "Me thinks the stupid one likes you."

"What? Which one?" Gilles asked, clearly befuddled. Both girls seemed excessively stupid.

Lucian laughed harshly. "Oh, dear cousin, you are just like your father," he said sharply, lightly tapping Gilles on the side of the head, "devoid of any brains." Patting the confused boy on the leg, Lucian stood up and turned to leave his cousin.

"Lucian, wait!" Gilles called, jumping up from the bench and standing beside the slightly frustrated and ragged boy. "You said I could repay you for taking them away from me. What do you want?"

That effectively managed to catch his attention. Of course he had not forgotten about that, he just did not yet have the time to think of how his more then inept cousin could be of use to him. Yet when would be the next time that he and Gilles would be alone together? Both boys made a point of avoiding each other, both for the reason that Lucian hated the young St. Just. And meetings such as these had an affinity for attracting unwanted and frequent interruptions. No, this matter needed to be dealt with now while he had the chance and before Gilles forgot.

Seating himself on the gravel pathway, Lucian quietly said, "Go fetch paper and a pen," and Gilles was off. Perfect. He needed time to assess the boy and find where his cousin would fit into the plan that was formulating in his mind. What assets did his cousin possess that neither the Dewhurst twins nor Allison have access to? Gilles could go to France anytime he liked, that was important, but he could not simply request to accompany them on their next trip; his mother would never permit it. And he could not ask anything too complicated of his cousin; Lucian's little faith in the boy prevented him from putting much stock in his ability to carry out anything more difficult then writing his own name.

The idea hit him as soon as his pale yellow eyes fell on Gilles quickly running to him with the requested items. "When is your next excursion to France, Gilles?" Lucian asked quietly as the out of breath youth approached.

"We planned for one in a month's time. Why?"

"If I give you a list of things I wish for you to do in France, can you swear you will not lose it?"

"Of course!"

"And can you promise that you will keep the dealings between you and I a secret form everyone?"

"I swear upon the honor of my family name, Lucian."

Lucian smiled slightly. "I take you for a fool, Gilles, but you are a loyal one. I like that." He paused for a moment and organized his thoughts. "Take this down," he said sternly as he motioned for his cousin to sit in front of him, waiting patiently as Gilled fumbled with the pen and paper.

"I am going to give you a list of names and the occupations of the mentioned people, all of who are French. On your next excursion to France, I want you to find the residence and work place of each person and take down the addresses. Do you understand?"

Gilles nodded vigorously. "Give me the names, Lucian."

"The first are soldiers by the names of Mercier and Coupeau. They are officers in Napoleon's army." He stopped for a moment, patiently waiting for Gilles to scribble down the information. "I do not have anything else on these two, but if I learn anything else, you will be the first to know."

"I do not think that is necessary, Lucian," Gilles said quietly as he scanned his notes. "I think this is enough."

"Very well. I also want you to find a man by the name of Andre Madeline. He is a lawyer."

"Got it. Is that all?"

"Yes." Lucian quickly got off the ground, brushed himself off, and offered his hand to his cousin. "Thank you, Gilles. I fear I have grossly misjudged your character."

Gilles smiled slightly. "That is quite alright, Lucian."

"Come. Let us get back inside."

* * *

The moment the two boys entered the manor, Lucian bid a quick goodbye to his cousin and went off in search of young Allison Ffoulkes. He found the pretty thing sitting at a window in a large, empty room. Perfect. Treading as softly as he could, he came to stand behind the girl and gently ran his fingers over her shoulder, causing the girl to jump, stiffen, and quickly turn around to meet those golden eyes. 

Allison instantly felt her face flush and her heart quicken; she suddenly could not remember how to speak and forgot to breathe.

"Good afternoon, mademoiselle Ffoulkes."

"Good afternoon, Lord Blakeney."

"May I sit with you, mademoiselle?"

Allison was having a hard enough time speaking as it was, and could only manage a dazed nod in response. Lucian sat on the windowsill opposite the girl and gazed blankly out into the garden.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Lucian said softly after a long silence between the two. "My mother says it reminds her of Paris. I myself have never been there, but I will take my mother's word for it. It must be a marvelous city." He finally turned away from the window and looked into Allison's light blue eyes. "Have you ever been to France, Allison?"

"No, Lucian," she said quietly, trying to tear her eyes away from those piercing golden ones, but failing miserably. "My mother says that France is dangerous right now."

"Lady Suzanne is quite right," Lucian said quietly, crossing his arms and leaning against the window. "Your mother is a smart woman. Now, correct me if I am mistaken, but she is of the French aristocracy, correct?"

"Yes." Allison slowly began to relax as the boy spoke to her; his voice was very smooth and soothing, extremely conducive to putting people at ease. "Mother had to leave during the revolution and she has not been back since. Father says that she was saved from the Guillotine by the Scarlet Pimpernel himself."

"Really? That is interesting. If that is in face the case, then I take it that she must have had some dealings with the Agent Chauvelin, correct?"

"Yes. Mother has met the man, and has been terrified of him ever since. I have heard people say that he was the one responsible for crippling my father. Mother says he was evil, Lucian."

"One man's demon is another man's saint, madame," Lucian said coldly, causing the girl to shiver slightly. "It seems as though you know quite a bit about the man."

"I really am quite ignorant. Mother does not like to hear or speak of him."

"I see. If you asked your parents about the saint, would they tell you what you asked?"

"Yes, I suppose. They encourage curiosity, so I do not see why not."

Lucian smiled sweetly and gently took the blushing girl's hand. "Allison, I must ask you a favor. My mother and father have been very careful to prevent me from learning anything about the man, and it has become very difficult for me to continue holding my head high in society when I am ignorant of England's biggest conversation topic. I need you to learn all you can about Chauvelin and tell me everything you can. You are my saving face in society. Will you do this for me?"

"Of course, Lucian," Allison said softly, nearly mechanically; the young girl had lost herself within the boy once again.

"And you will tell no one?"

"Never."

Smiling tenderly, he softly planted a kiss on her cheek. "Thank you, Allison," thesuavechildsaid softly as he stood and slowly walked away from the furiously blushing girl.

"Lucian!" Allison called, quickly jumping up from her perch at the window and rushing to the boy's side. "I…"

Lucian looked at the stuttering girl and lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes; he had an idea of where this was going, and he most definitely did not want her saying anything for fear that he may lose nerve and panic.

"Lucian, I…I…"

"Hush." The yellow-eyed boy put his finger to her lips and watched in amusement as the girl shivered, blushed, and began breathing much faster. Slowly moving his hand to shelter her cheek, Lucian pulled her closer, inclining his head toward hers, pausing only for a moment as he gathered his resolve and pressed his lips against Allison's.

Young Allison stiffened and nearly recoiled; her British upbringing screamed that this was most improper for a lady and hardly decent in any case, yet the girl did not pull away. A warm, tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach spread throughout her body and she unconsciously moved closer; in that instant, she knew with her entire being that she andLucian belonged together, for being with him like this felt so right. She felt herself falling, but did little to stop it, and Allison Ffoulkes was lost from that moment on; this boy and nothing more mattered.

With a whimpered protest form Allison, Lucian quickly pulled away from the girl and looked down in to her clear blue eyes filled with admiration and worship for the boy that held her; the foolish girl was clearly oblivious to everything, including the cold, hard gaze that Lucian's pale yellow eyes possessed. Quickly releasing her, Lucian turned and left the room, leaving young Allison in a state of perfect bliss.

After a few minutes of pondering in silence, Lucian had come to the conclusion that he did not understand women. Despite how good he was at verbal persuasion, it seemed as though these girls reacted much quickly and more favorably to physical affection. Lucian shivered; figures that the people he needed most would be most receptive to physical contact, an aspect that the boy quite despised and avoided at all costs.

Not to mention that Lucian knew very little about the amorous inclinations that were beginning to become prominent among people his age. He needed to learn, to become as good at this game as he had become with verbal means of persuasion; after all, the art of seduction was just as effective, if not more so, then any other power he possessed. Seek out a teacher, learn everything, and use it; that would give him something to do while his informants were gathering what he had sent them to discover.

Resolved in his course of action, Lucian stood tall and walked at his normal pace, but was stopped soon after as he ran in to no other then the cold eyed Ellison Ffoulkes. The two boys stood there in silence, glaring at each other viciously, and while there was not a shadow of doubt that Lucian was more intimidating, the proud Ellison did not back down; he had no fear of the falcon-eyed boy. Nodding slightly, Ellison managed a forced, "Lord Blakeney."

Lucian hissed slightly as he drew in a quick, angry breath, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Never again refer to me by that name, Lord Ffoulkes."

"What? Unwilling to be associated with the good name of your father, fiend?"

"Exactly that."

"What have you been doing to my sister?"

"What?" Lucian was officially confused; Ellison had been nowhere in sight when he was enticing Allison into his service. How had the pest known about that?

"I saw you leave the room my sister is in, and you do nothing without reason."

"Why, my dear Ellison!" Lucian cried in a grim parody of Percy's foppish tone. "I was merely corrupting the pretty young innocent. Is this such a crime?"

"What are you up to, Lucian?" Ellison asked coldly; he knew this boy too well to not think that the cunning snake was up to something.

Lucian dropped the act and became deadly serious. Ellison had an impeccable sense of morality, and thus he intensely distrusted the bastard son of Marguerite; the boy seemed to pick up that something was off with the golden boy, but could not place exactly what. Yet Lucian would have been content with this had Ellison possessed some fear of him. Of course, the young Lord Ffoulkes was hardly moved by anything Lucian said or did, but fortunately, there were none who listened to Ellison's cries of infamy against Chauvelin's son. Of course, he did nothing out in the open to affirm Ellison's accusations; to England, Lucian was flawless, perfect, and could do no wrong. Ellison was powerless against the golden child. No, it was more then safe, perhaps even beneficial to his cause, to tell Ellison nearly everything.

Grinning maliciously, he asked in a hushed tone, "Do you really want to know what I am up to, Ellison?"

Ellison felt something drop in the pit of his stomach; there was something sinister about the boy that had not been there before, but the young lord nodded anyway.

"Very well, Ellison. I have employed the Dewhurst twins, my cousin, and your own lovely sister into my service. They will do whatever I tell them without question, I have assured that already."

"Good God…"

"Hold, you worthless imbecile, I am not through yet. They will bring me information regarding the Saint Chauvelin, who is my real father."

"What?" Ellison asked weakly. He would have loved to think that the boy was mad, but he knew instantly that Lucian was deadly honest.

"You know I am not lying, don't you Ellison? Then you know I am honest when I say that you will never mention this to anyone for fear of ruining my mother and Lord Blakeney, correct?"

Ellison said nothing, but he did shiver as he came to the realization that Lucian was absolutely correct, and the golden boy laughed wickedly as the young Ffoulkes showed visible signs of his accurate observations. Placing a hand on the shocked lord's chest, Lucian pushed Ellison against the wall and brought his face close to his; the boy had long ago discovered that quiet was more intimidating, more dangerous, and more effective and forceful then a raised voice.

"After I learn all I can," he said softly in the now trembling lord's ear, "I will be off to France, where I will be untouchable by you English dim-wits and celebrated in France as the son of their beloved saint and martyr. I will be free to engage in my plans for the revenge for the murder of my father. I will find the Pimpernel, and I will kill him as he killed my father. The aristocrats that eluded him because of the Pimpernel will be exterminated as well." He paused a moment, relishing in the moment as he leaned even closer to the lord's ear and whispered, "That means your mother," and grinned maliciously as the color drained out of Ellison's face. "And I must exact a personal vendetta against the Lord Blakeney as well. Any questions, you pitiful excuse for a human?"

Ellison looked into thosepale yelloweyes and saw and underlying rage and fierce determination that quite frightened him; Lucian was completely honest, and there was no doubt that he would follow through. "You would kill?" the boy asked, though he knew full well the answer.

"Would, Ellison? You know damn well I will," he said quietly as he released the shocked and frightened boy.

"You treacherous snake!"

"What of it? There is nothing you can do. By all means, tell your father, warn all of England that their precious hero is in danger. You know they will not believe you. They will laugh, put it off as a mere child's game, and then move on with their ignorant, vapid lives. Warn them, Ellison. That way, when I finally make my move, they will realize that the child they disregarded all of those years before was correct. They will scramble to stop me, but by then it will be too late. They will turn to you for guidance, make you a hero, and Ellison, I will be forced to kill you."

Smiling evilly, Lucian patted the ghostly white lord on the cheek. "Tell them, Ellison," Lucian said softly as he went to find his mother, leaving a shivering Ellison alone in the hall.


	5. But His Soul Remains Alive

**And thus, I update! Hello, my wonderful readers! Ok, so I have gotten a bunch of reviews for this one, and I am happy beyond compare. Really. So, I am taking time out to set aside a small part of the authors note to the wonderful people who reviewed.**

**kilikiwi - Thank you so much! I'll try to make this as good as possible!**

**A.Chauvelin - I believe I have already told you how amazingly hard you rock, but I shall say it again: you rock SO hard! Glad you like this one so much!**

**Lis - Yay! Thank you! Well, here's what he does next. I'll get to progressing this story in the next chapter. Most of my set up is done. Hope you enjoy.**

**And thus. Oh, and if you have the wonderful urge to review like these fine examples of humanity have done, please leave me a way I can get in contact with you so I can properly thank you. I write essays of thanks. Really, I love you guys for reviewing, and I will thank you accordingly. Ah, and I have discovered that I really don't like flames. So, if you have a problem with what I'm writing, give me the problem, and give me some way I can change it to make the story better. Constructive criticism is fine; flames, no. Thank you.**

**Ok, the returning adventures of this bastard known as Lucian. If you have gotten this far, you probably don't mind oryoulikethe Chauvelin Marguerite pairing, because that's what this is based on. But just in case, this chapter shall be mildly, if not heavily Chauvelin Marguerite. If you don't like it, I'm terribly sorry. But there's some Percy Marguerite at the end. And now I'll probably be updating more often, as the chapters will probably be shorter since my setup is done. So...umm, yeah. That's it. Please! Review! I love them oh so very much! And if you want to see something happen, please let me know, and I will work it in somehow. Really. Someone wanted me to do an AU for_ Falcon_, and I am doing an AU for _Falcon_. Want to see something, it will get done.**

**As promised, I'm dedicating this chapter to A.Chauvelin. This person of all people is perfectly marvelous.**

**Disclaimer: I own Lucian. Go me. But sadly, anything Scarlet Pimpernel is not mine.**

**Soon the Moon Will Smoulder**

**Chapter 5: But His Soul Remains Alive**

Marguerite waived goodbye to Percy as he and the former League of the Scarlet Pimpernel sped away to Dover to take a trip to France. Though the League was no longer needed, there was no better group of men for the task of finding out what the Emperor Napoleon was up to.

When her husband and his men were out of sight, Marguerite made her way up to her rooms; she was exhausted and in desperate need of rest. Leaving the door to her room slightly ajar, she slowly walked in, yawning and letting her hair down. Choosing against changing into sleeping attire, she lay down on the bed and nearly instantly drifted off to sleep.

She slept not for five minutes before she was pulled back into consciousness by the sudden slamming of her door. Groaning in irritation, she turned over and buried her head into her pillow.

"Mon Dieu, Marguerite. You really have changed."

Marguerite's eyes shot open. That wasn't right. Her mind desperately tried to connect to something and she quickly jumped out of bed as she recognized that all too familiar voice that time had forced her to forget.

The man laughed coldly as he pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against. "That is more like it, cherie. When I knew you, you would have jumped like that when I slammed the door. Has England really destroyed you so much to dull your senses like that?"

"Chauvelin, you…" Marguerite swallowed hard. The man that was now slowly making his way toward her was most certainly no longer living; she saw him die.

"And damaged your ability to properly speak French," Chauvelin sneered in contempt. "A waste of a brilliant woman such as yourself."

"You're dead!" Marguerite finally managed to shout, feeling tears well up in her eyes, more so from fear then anything else.

"Oh?" Chauvelin said quietly, gently running his finger across her cheek. Marguerite shuddered; his touch was electric and most definitely real. "Death is little more then a frame of mind," he said quietly, indifferently shrugging his shoulders.

"I watched you die!" Marguerite cried, the tears now running down her face. This could not be happening…

Chauvelin smiled slyly as he slowly approached the lovely woman who he had backed into a corner. Ah, the thrill of the power of being in complete control. "Did you miss me, ma amour?"

"No!"

"Ah, but you lie, my Marguerite. You do not go a day without me in your thoughts." Whatever kindness he previously expressed was quickly replaced by that cold, bitter, manipulative side that was so common of him. Firmly seizing her arms, he pulled her back against him and latched his hands on her waist.

"Tell me, Margot. How often have you wondered what kind of a husband and father I would have been? How many nights have you lain in your bed and imagined me next to you?" Feeling the woman tense in his arms, he knew that he had hit a cord of truth within her and nuzzled her neck, gently biting her earlobe. "Darling, how often does your husband make love to you and you imagine it is me? How many times have you had to stop yourself from crying out my name?"

"Chauvelin, I…"

"Still love me? I know that."

"No!" Marguerite finally managed to pull herself away from the man. "I love my husband, Chauvelin."

"Of course you do," the agent said tiredly, sighing slightly and watching her move away from him with a bored expression fixed in his eyes. "I know you love him more then you ever loved me, but that doesn't change the fact that you cannot forget me. Don't lie to yourself, Marguerite. Despite the fact that you love that blasted Pimpernel, somewhere in your heart, you still love me."

"Not so," Marguerite sneered in defiance. "Fifteen years, Chauvelin. It has been fifteen years since I have even heard word of you. That is time enough to make the heart forget!"

Before she even knew what was happening, she was in the arms of the agent once again, his hand gently sheltering her cheek as he softly kissed her, and she could not feel the strength to pull away.

"My son, Marguerite," Chauvelin whispered gently as he pulled away from the woman. "How could you claim to forget me when I fathered your first child?" Marguerite felt her face flush, her heart quicken; he was pulling her in again, and she felt herself falling, but could do nothing. Those golden eyes, the same as her son's, they held her in place.

"My Lucian," the agent cooed softly before gently kissing the woman again. "Beautiful child, just like his mother." Gently laying his head on hers and inhaling the sent of roses, he quietly whispered, "Margot, I want him to come home to France."

Marguerite tensed. "Chauvelin, no…"

"He belongs there, Marguerite," he said firmly, interrupting the woman's protests. "You know as well as I that he is too much like me to exist anywhere else. Let him. Tell him of me, and send him off."

Marguerite looked up helplessly at the man and gently laid her head on his chest, saying nothing. He was absolutely right. Lucian was desperately unhappy in England. He needed her home country.

"I missed you, my Marguerite, my only love." She looked in his eyes once again and was met with the overbearing passion that was so typically in his eyes when he gazed at her and it was all over. She ran her delicate hands through his jet-black hair and passionately kissed him, slowly moving closer as they became more fervent in their actions.

Her whole life, her husband, her children, were slowly fading away and her focus shifted to the man that now kissed her, her first lover. Nothing else mattered but him. And that all too familiar feeling, the warmth that spread from her chest slowly down her body…wait, that was not right…

She slowly pulled her lips away from his and glanced down at her chest and reeled in horror; both she and the agent were covered in blood. "Chauvelin…you're-"

"I never said, Marguerite, that I was not dead."

Marguerite would have screamed, ran away if she could, but terror froze her to the spot and she could do little more then stare in horror into the black hollows in which the agent's golden eyes should have been. "Did you honestly think differently?" the man said coldly. "Marguerite, you killed me."

_No_. Marguerite tried to speak, but heard no sound, but had the eerie feeling that the agent could hear her. _No, it was an accident_.

"Come with me, Marguerite," Chauvelin said cruelly as he wrapped his long fingers around the pale, frightened woman's slender neck. Marguerite finally managed to snap out of her stupor and desperately struggled to pry Chauvelin's hand from her throat, but she slowly became weaker as the man's grip slowly constricted and she could no longer breathe.

The lovely woman watched through blurry eyes as the agent slowly faded as she lost consciousness. The pressure suddenly lifted and with a quick intake of breath, Marguerite shot up, wide eyed, and found herself in the arms of a lean, strong man.

"You're so tense? What happened?"

Marguerite looked at the man in terror, the image of Chauvelin remaining for a few moments more before it faded away and she recognized her son.

Her deep blue eyes darted around the room, but there was no sign that the deceased agent had even been there; she must have been dreaming.

"Mother, are you sick? You're so pale. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Luc. Just a bad dream."

"Will you be alright?" Lucian asked softly, suddenly extremely concerned for his beloved mother. He suddenly felt his resolve falter; he could not find it within himself to force his mother to tell him about the agent, for he knew the mere mention would hurt her.

"Yes, Lucian. I'm fine," she said softly, gently hugging her son and kissing her forehead. "Thank you."

Lucian sighed in defeat; for the life of him, he could not understand why all of his advantages dissolved in the presence of his mother.

"Where is your father, Lucian?"

_I don't know, mother. Why don't you tell me? _"Making a rather pitiful attempt to rid the house of our guests." Lucian mentally beat himself; so much for seizing his opportunities.

"Ah. I suppose I should be a proper hostess and bid our guests farewell." She slowly released her son and slowly got off the bed. "Will you be joining me, Luc?"

"No, mother. I have used up all my fraternizing skills for the day."

Marguerite smiled softly at the seemingly melancholy boy. "Whatever you want, my Luc."

Lucian watched in defeat as his mother began to leave the room, but impulsively called after her, and she stopped and looked inquisitively at the suddenly uncomfortable child. "Mother?"

"Yes?"

Casting his eyes to the floor, Lucian muttered a barely audible "Nothing." Marguerite smiled kindly at the boy and left to play hostess.

As soon as his mother left, Lucian flopped back on the bed. Lord, he was such a useless failure! His most vital link between Chauvelin and himself and he could not find the power to draw what he needed from her. Useless!

He ran a hand over his face before he lay still; he had thought far too much for the day; his head hurt terribly and he was more then content with the prospects of shutting his brain off for a while.

He had only a few moments of peace before his keen ears picked up rapid, light footfalls coming down the hall toward the room in which he was resting. Groaning in irritation, he lifted his head just in time to see twelve year old Acton Dewhurst dash into the room. What was that pest still doing in his home? Deciding that life was obviously not worth all of this trouble, Lucian let his head drop back on the mattress.

Acton quickly looked around the room and was about to leave when his light brown eyes fell on the eldest Blakeney sprawled lazily on the bed. Lucian was smart, and so the child rushed to the bed in hopes of getting him to help him.

In a rash action that Lucian would never forgive him for, Acton latched on to the exhausted boy's leg and pulled. Lucian did not move much, but the very fact that the young Dewhurst had the gall to so much as touch him would have sent his temper flying had he not been so physically and mentally drained; Acton would get off easy this time, but oh, that boy would pay later. Burrying his face into the pillow, he made an attempt to ignore the small boy.

Acton could not understand why the older boy was not reacting; he should have gotten at least a slight response, but Lucian just lay there, completely immobile. Perhaps he was dead, and Acton made it his duty to check. Latching on harder, the little Dewhurst pulled the leg more ferociously then before, but was stopped nearly instantly as he was knocked back and forced to release the captive leg as he was hit square in the face with a pillow; nope, definitely not dead.

"What in blazes do you want, pest?" Lucian shouted as loud as he could as the young boy was knocked to the ground.

Acton quite literally bounced off the ground and was on his feet again in a matter of seconds. "Help me!"

Lucian rolled his eyes and flopped back on the bed; he was nearly twice the size of young Acton and could crush the boy with little effort. He was of no concern to Chauvelin's son.

Acton latched on to the leg again and pulled, but soon found another pillow in his face and he was knocked to the ground yet again. Jumping up, he pointed menacingly at the boy on the bed. "Alright, now you're out of pillows. Help me!"

"Why are you still here?" Lucian snapped angrily.

"I'm spending the night!" Acton cried happily.

"Ugh…" That made it clear; life clearly had no meaning. God clearly wanted him to suffer. "What are you doing, Dewhurst?" Lucian asked apathetically.

"Helouise and I are playing and it is my turn to hide and she must find me!" Acton looked expectantly at the eldest Blakeney, waiting for an acknowledgement that he had heard him, but Lucian just lay there, eyes closed and hand resting on his chest. "Where can I hide where she would never find me?" he whispered in frustration, quickly looking around the room.

Lucian lifted his head for a moment and stared at the expectant boy before he let his head drop back down and he softly whispered, "Under the bed."

Hearing the swift pattering of feet coming down the hall, Acton dove into the small space between the floor and the bed.

When Helouise ran into the room, she grinned in delight at the sight of her brother and pounced upon him. "Luc! Where have you been all day?" the sweet girl cried happily as she kissed his forehead.

"Here and there, dear sister."

Helouise lay down on top of him, resting her head on his chest. "I wanted to talk to you earlier before our guests arrived, but I could not find you."

"About what, Helouise?" Lucian said quietly, gently running his hand through her strawberry blonde hair.

"Getting married. I think I should start considering who I should take as my husband and I want your consent and approval of the man I choose."

"You know I have no power over who it is you are to marry. Why ask me for something like this?" Lucian asked coldly. He was not usually standoffish toward his sister, but this was a rather uncomfortable, touchy subject. He did not like the idea of his beloved sister being taken away by some man unworthy of her brilliance; if he had it his way, he would never allow her to leave him.

"Why? Because I love you, Luc, and I care about what you have to say. I want you to approve."

Lucian shook his head. "No, no. You are not even a woman, love. You are too young to even be thinking of marriage."

Helouise considered this for a moment before quickly kissing her brother and sliding off of the bed. "You are right, of course. Thank you, Luc. And now if you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"I am looking for Acton." The bright girl perked up and jumped back on the bed. "Oh, Lucian! You haven't seen him, have you?"

Propped up on his elbows, he looked at his sister with a tired, bored glance before falling back down and casually stated, "He's under the bed."

Squealing in delight, Helouise dove to the floor and squirmed under the bed, emerging a few seconds later dragging an outraged Acton by the leg. "Lucian, you weren't supposed to tell her where I was!"

"What did you expect me to have done, Dewhurst?" he said quietly, chuckling softly. "I am but a man. How did you expect me to resist that girl's charms?"

"My turn to hide!" Helouise cried excitedly as she rushed out of the room.

Propping himself up on his elbows once again, Lucian looked down at Acton, who was glaring as viciously as he could at the intimidating older boy. "You were not supposed to tell."

"Why ever not, Dewhurst?" Lucian asked the boy coldly.

"Because it's traitorous, Lucian!" Acton cried indignantly as he jumped up from the ground.

"How did you fit under there?" Lucian asked quietly as he leaned over the side of the mattress and carefully examined the underside of the bed.

"What? It was easy."

"Really? But it's such a small space."

"Yes, well, I have to hide from my sisters, so small places are best. They're crazy, you know."

Lucian carefully mulled this over and slowly asked the fidgeting young boy, "How are you at sneaking around?"

"I'm really good at that, Lucian!" Acton cried excitedly. He did so love things he was good at.

The older boy smiled slyly. "How would you like to play a game, Acton?"

"I can't now, I'm playing with Helouise."

"You miss my meaning. This is a long-term game. It's continuous. It starts now, and it doesn't stop, but you can do other things while you play this game. Do you understand?"

Acton took a moment to consider before he happily cried, "Alright, I'll play! What are we playing?"

Grinning maliciously and sliding off the bed, he quickly went to a desk in the room and grabbed some paper and a pin from his mother's bureau. "We are going to play spies. I am the head of the agency, and you are my top spy."

"Oh, fun!" Acton cried excitedly as he bounded over to Lucian's side. "When do we start?"

"Now, if you so please. Would you like your first mission?"

"Yes sir!" Smiling lazily, Lucian stuck the pin in to his palm and slid it across his hand, opening a shallow but quickly bleeding wound. Acton recoiled in shock at the sight of the blood. "Lucian, what are you doing?" the young Dewhurst asked quietly as he watched the elder boy dip something into the cut and draw it across the paper.

Quickly blowing on the scrap of paper, Lucian handed the parchment to the wide-eyed child. "Look at that," he said quietly as he wrapped his hand in his shirt. "Do you know what that is?"

Acton looked at the paper and knew in an instant what the glistening red, star shaped flower was. "That's a Scarlet Pimpernel, Lucian."

"Very good. I want you, Acton, to find anything you can with this symbol or anything pertaining to it. Find things, secure them, and bring them to me."

"And that is my mission?" Acton asked skeptically.

"That is all, Acton."

The young Dewhurst laughed. "That's easy, Lucian! I really hope the next one is more difficult."

"Oh? Is it so easy?" Lucian asked softly.

"Yes. I've seen something like this in my father's study. I'll bring it to you next time I come over," Acton said arrogantly as he left the room to look for the renegade Blakeney daughter.

Lucian looked in shock at the place where the Dewhurst heir stood long after he had left. Tony Dewhurst, British noble and damned idiot, was connected with that legendary hero, the Scarlet Pimpernel. There was little doubt that he was actually a member of the League, but the man could very well be that elusive phantom. Lucian sat cross-legged on the ground; this was far too easy. The Pimpernel was too clever, too slippery to be so careless as to leave something so vital simply lying around. Of course, the Pimpernel was no longer active, and secrecy was no longer needed, though it was still maintained. Tony could be it, and if that was the case, then Acton and his sisters must die as well. He could not risk the threat of another Pimpernel and was fully intent on cutting off and destroying the entire line of the hero.

Quickly dashing to the door, he suddenly became dizzy and light headed. Gripping his head and sinking to his knees, he waited for it to pass and remembered that he had forgotten to eat that day. Rolling his eyes in irritation of having to submit to such a menial thing as hunger, he slowly rose to his feet and headed to the kitchens to demand sustenance.

As his general bad luck would have it, on his way to the kitchen, Lucian passed by his brother Blake, alone and looking for something to occupy his short attention span. Seizing his chance for amusement, Blake reeled on his brother and trotted closely at his side. "Sink me, if it isn't my dear brother!" Blake cried in his best imitation of his father. "La, but this is demned convenient, what?"

"Drop the act, Blake," Lucian growled sharply, and the young Blakeney instantly became serious, his foppish demeanor falling away as though it was not even there.

"What's wrong, Lucian?" Blake asked quietly, concern for his brother filling his voice. He put his hand on his brother's shoulder, and Lucian quickly knocked it away.

"I hate you, Blake! What more do you want from me?" the boy shouted, desperately fighting the tears that threatened to fall from his golden eyes. Blake had Percy's love, now for a quite obvious reason, and for this, Lucian hated them both.

"What? Lucian, why?" Blake asked quietly, hurt by the words of his brother. Oh, he knew that the golden child hated him, but to be told was an entirely different matter, a reminder, and it hurt.

Lucian threw open the doors to the kitchens, Blake following closely at his heels, and quickly approached the chefs. Slamming his hand hard upon the counter, he sharply demanded, "Food. Bring it," and the chefs were sent scrambling instantly; the child was clearly irritated and none wanted to incur the boy's notoriously violent wrath.

Lucian did not wait a second more with the frantic servants and stormed into the dining room, seating himself at the head of the large table. Blake tentatively sat down in the chair nearest his fuming brother and nervously played with a fork. "Lucian, you didn't mean it when you said you hated me, did you?" Blake asked softly, careful not to upset his brother's already frazzled nerves.

Lucian didn't answer, just sat in an irritated silence until the servants dashed in and lay an assortment of breads, meats, and cheeses before him. He organized everything on the plate in a fashion that he found acceptable before he softly whispered, "No, Blake. I meat it with all my soul."

Blake's heart sank; though he did not adore his brother as his sister did, he did try to create a feeling of mutual respect and acceptance between the two of them, but he always knew that it would never happen. Lucian was far too different from him for there to be a peaceful existence between them, but it was really their similarities that kept them apart. Both boys had a keen sense of justice and fierce determination, though Lucian made a greater effort to display this then Blake, who preferred to be subtle. And both were stubborn like nobody's business, a quality they acquired from their mother, and immeasurable brave and fearless, traits they received from their respective fathers. Yet minor differences in these characteristics forced the two boys apart; where they could have been a great force in unison, they became opposing forces to be reckoned with. Lucian understood this; Blake was just beginning to realize this.

"Why, Luc?" Blake asked sadly. "I don't understand why."

"I do not ask you to understand. Just know that I loathe you."

"But I like you."

"No. You don't," Lucian said coldly, tentatively holding a knife between his fingers. "You tolerate me because you must. You like me no more then I like you, and you, dear Blake, damn well know it."

"I made the attempt to," Blake said quietly after a long pause.

"You did, but trying means little and changes nothing."

"No, perhaps not. But," Blake growled quietly, his deep blue eyes locking with the other boy's pale yellow ones, "it never hurt to try."

"But did not help, and was therefore a waste of time and effort. You knew long ago that you and I could never coexist."

"But I fought for that chance anyway!"

"Because you are little more then a fool!" Lucian shouted, finally losing his temper with his brother. "A lost cause! You fought a battle you could never win! What's wrong with you?"

"There is no challenge or sense of accomplishment in fighting what you know will be a victory!" Blake shouted back, his temper finally getting the best of him as well.

"And you find gratification in defeat?" Lucian sneered in contempt. "Christ, Blake, you are more of an idiot then I previously imagined." Lucian pushed away from the table and stood up; his brother's foolish antics were growing tiresome. "I am finished with you, Blake. Considering how much I hate you, I believe that you will find it in your best interests to leave me my space."

"And I have just started with you, Luc!" Blake called after his brother as the flustered, exhausted boy began to leave. "Heaven help me, I will find some good in you!"

"And Heaven help me, I will prove you wrong!" the enraged child shouted at his smugly grinning brother as he slammed the door behind him and stormed into the garden.

* * *

Lucian stumbled across the lawns, sluggishly trying to keep himself steady, but the entire day's happenings were finally catching up with him; the initial discovery of the martyr's new significance in his life gave him the strength and drive to do all he had done to secure what he needed to know about his father. But now, as the day drew to a close, the actual meaning of his newfound situation began to weigh heavy upon him and he suddenly could not shake the quickly rising depression and the desperate loneliness that threatened to overtake him. 

Unsteadily dragging his feet through his mother's rose garden, he unceremoniously flopped upon a stone bench, quietly gasping for breath; breathing had suddenly become difficult and painful, and he nearly cried. The thrill of actually being the son of the man he idolized had suddenly worn off; that stunning revelation changed who he was. At least before he had a sense of stability, a security of knowing form whence he came, but now he found himself knocked to the ground from his previous inhibitions, and he now had no idea who he was. How could he if he had no idea who the man who made up half his stock was?

Oh, and that man, the agent, the martyr, the saint, whatever, was so very unreachable. Anything and everything Lucian knew of Chauvelin was secondhand, and he knew so well that everything but firsthand information was unreliable. He would never know Chauvelin, and he felt lost because of it; he would never know who he was. At least before, he had an idea, and even though he hated it, it was still better than now.

As bad as that all was, the actual reality of Lucian's very existence was by far worse, and he knew full well what it meant. He was a mistake. He should not have existed. And his mother, oh, there was a clean one! That darling mother of his was unfaithful to the Lord Blakeney during the course of their marriage, and though he hated the man, he could not help but pity his surrogate father. And Percy loved his mother so very much; what a slap to his face. Why had he taken his mother back? No wonder Percy hated him; he was little more then a reminder of his wife's infidelity. And that was all he was, the result of the passions that his whore of a mother shared with another man. Poor Percy…

Lucian's golden eyes briefly flashed with intense cruelty. Of course, there were two sides to every story. On one extreme, his mother was little more then a common whore. But on the other hand…

Despite his previous intent to stop thinking for the day, Lucian sat up and gently pressed his fingertips together. Perhaps his mother actually loved the agent. After all, he vividly remembered times when he was younger when he would catch his mother weeping over what he knew to be the agent. That his mother loved the agent and Percy stole her from him had been his first jerk reaction to the situation, but he believed that, at least for now, he could scrap that notion. However, the trend of affairs within marriages in the noble families ran rampant. Marriages of convenience, not love. However, his mother wan not of a prestigious family, so this did not exactly apply. However, he could not help from thinking that his mother loved the agent, and he was the result of what should have been, but never was.

All things aside, he was conceived, and then the Pimpernel killed Chauvelin. Why? The timing of it all could not have been coincidence. Strange indeed…

Lucian growled in frustration and quickly shook his head; he already had a terrible headache, and his jumping to conclusions, making assumptions, and formulating conspiracies was certainly not helping it. Not to mention that mere speculation did nothing to discover the truth; there were too many gaps in what he knew to reasonably bridge the information into a single coherent and accurate story. There would be no more guesswork.

Lucian collapsed upon the bench once again. He was a mistake. Hell, he probably wasn't even wanted, not by Lord Blakeney, in the very least. A mistake, a child of passion, an illegitimate. He didn't ask for this. It wasn't fair…

"Lucian?"

The entire day had been more then taxing, and he no longer possessed the strength or the will to move; his body, his mind, and his soul were aching. The child's uncharacteristic stillness terrified him, and within moments, Percy had taken the lithe boy in his arms and held the slightly trembling wreck close to him. And the poor thing was a mess. The usually immaculate Lucian was disheveled and disarrayed, and he was deathly pale; even his eyes were glazed and terribly dilated, certainly not healthy in the least. The child could have walked through the Valley of Death and he would have come out in better shape then he was in now. And, Heavens, the boy was cold as ice, and his embrace tightened around the boy. "Lucian, speak to me, boy," Percy whispered softly as he pressed his lips against the child's ashen forehead.

Lucian's pale, unfocused eyes met Percy's clear blue ones and felt shame and pity well within him; shame for his actual lineage and the pain he had caused the baronet for it, and pity for his surrogate father's position. The pain he caused Percy must have been similar to the pain that he felt now, bitter betrayal and hopelessly lost because of it. Something within the pale, trembling boy broke and he buried his face in the baronet's coat and allowed himself to cry.

Percy was shocked that the stoic Lucian would act in such an unusual way; even when he was really hurting, the boy rarely displayed any emotion, choosing instead to bear his burden on his own. But that he would act like this…Lucian was so much more like Marguerite then he let on. "Hush, hush, my Luc. What is troubling you, my son?" Percy cooed softly, gently rocking the boy as he ran a hand through the boy's messy blonde hair.

Lucian whimpered slightly and clenched his hand around the lapel of Percy's deep red coat and mumbled something unintelligible into the fabric. The poor man…how much had it pained him to pretend that he was his son?

"Lucian, you poor boy," Percy whispered as he lifted the sobbing child's head up and looked into his father's pale yellow eyes, his thumbs gently running across the pale cheeks and wiping the tears away. "What's wrong?"

Lucian took a few deep breaths and managed to stop the tears. "Do I disappoint you, father?"

"What? Heavens no, Luc. Where did you get that idea?"

Lucian looked into the baronet's eyes and saw…what? Sympathy? Compassion? Yes, those were definitely there. But underneath that was the subtle hint of hurt and betrayal that was always present when they looked at each other. He was still causing the man that had raised him to suffer, and he could not find it within himself to hate him, but to pity him. "Because whenever you look at me, there is pain in your eyes that is not there when you look at anyone else." Pain. Always that pain…

"What?" Percy asked meekly, his breath catching in his chest. "I…Lucian, are you well? You're talking nonsense…"

Percy stopped suddenly as those usually so cold eyes filled with pity, and the boy gently stood up and kissed his forehead. "I am sorry for all the suffering that my existence has caused you, Lord Blakeney." Lucian whispered, and with that, he left the stunned and panicking Percy alone.

* * *

_It wasn't supposed to be this way_. Lucian dragged his feet through the manor. He was exhausted, and if he didn't get a chance to sleep within the next quarter hour, he was certain he would collapse where he stood. He should have hated Percy for hating him; rather, he could not find it in himself to despise the man any further, and could do little but pity him. And, oh, he hated it. It was so much easier to hate him… 

It was neither of their faults in the end, really. Percy hated him because Marguerite's first son was not his. Lucian hated him because Percy never really treated him like a son. There was nothing that could be done to correct that, Lucian saw that now. It was not him, but their situation that made it impossible for them to love each other. Victims of circumstance. He actually preferred it when he had hated his adoptive father; his life was stable then. Not happy, but secure, and Lucian did love order; it gave him power, control over his life. He wandered through his perfectly ordered life ina perpetual hatred of the baronet based on assumptions. Bliss in ignorance indeed. Pity his eyes had to be opened to the truth; sympathy did not suit him, but Lucian could not help it.

He and the baronet suffered similar pain, similar betrayal, and he could hardly bear the anguish. How did Blakeney do it for so long? He couldn't help but admire the man for such. Nonetheless, he was certain that he would be unable to do likewise; the pain had to be alleviated as soon as possible, and he could lift both of their suffering simultaneously. One pain, one action; all he need dowas leavefor France. He would be in the country of his father, where he truly belonged, and Percy would be rid of his presence, the very reminder of his wife's infidelity. And when the guilt of paining the baronet was gone, he would be free to hate him as before; he still had his reasons to. As soon as he had what he needed, he would be off, and both he and Percy would be free to heal form those long years of pain.

Dragging his feet up the stairs and down the hall, he stumbled into his room and collapsed upon the bed and was soundly sleeping in a moment's time.

* * *

"Marguerite!" 

The lovely woman was seated at her bureau, running a brush through her strawberry blonde hair when her husband burst into the room, slamming the door behind him. "Percy darling, what's wrong?" Marguerite asked quietly as she rose from the chair and approached the extremely tense baronet.

"Can you not control that son of your, Marguerite?" Percy snarled, causing the woman to retreat.

"What are you talking about, Percy?"

"You don't have a tight enough hold on that boy, and he has started to figure things out, if he doesn't know already!"

"Don't you dare blame me for that, Percy!" Marguerite snapped back in an attempt to defend herself. "He's an intelligent boy. I am surprised that he hadn't caught on earlier!"

"Oh, that's right," Percy snapped, his voice dripping in contempt. "The bastard is just like his _father_!"

"You forget that he is also _my_ son, and I will not have you speaking about my Luc in this fashion!"

"I will not allow your child to destroy all I have worked for, Marguerite. I won't allow your infidelity to plague me anymore then it must!"

That did it. "Had you not pushed me out of your life, it would not have happened!" Marguerite shouted. How dare he strike her in such a manner?

"You dare blame me for that affair of yours, Marguerite? You should have been stronger! This was your mistake, your weakness, your passion, not mine. If you will remember, I kept my vows, you didn't. Take responsibility, woman!"

Marguerite sat on the bed and silently took all her husband said; he was absolutely right, and tears slowly filled her eyes. "I'm sorry, my love," she said quietly, her voice cracking as the tears fell from her blue eyes.

"Marguerite, you must listen to me," Percy said firmly as he took his wife in his arms. "He is figuring something out. You need to keep a closer eye on him, or we are going to have a terrific mess on our hands."

"Darling, what happened?"

Percy sighed in frustration. "He's getting broody. I don't like it. Everyday, I see more and more Chauvelin in him. The first one was bad enough, I will not risk having a second."

Marguerite snuggled against him and sighed in content. "I shall do what I can, dearest." Pausing momentarily to plant a kiss on her husband's lips, she quietly added, "I really am sorry, Percy."

"I know. Little point to discuss it. There is nothing to be done about it now. All we can do is focus on correcting that son of yours."

"Yes, of course.' Marguerite suddenly tensed, forgot to breathe. "Percy, do you remember Citizens Mercier and Coupeau from France?"

"What? Yes, of course. What of them?"

"They know about Lucian, Percy."

"What?" Percy yelled, quickly releasing the woman and staring at her in disbelief.

"They came here this afternoon and got one look at Luc and knew hewas Chauvelin's son."

"Oh Christ…" Percy sat in silence for a while and mulled this over, slowly managing to whisper, "And what is to happen when they tell?"

"They swore to keep it secret."

"And can we trust them?"

"Percy," Marguerite said softly as she wrapped her arms around his neck, "they kept your secret. They shall keep mine."

"Yes, of course," Percy sighed, gently kissing his lovely wife's neck. "Please, let us no longer speak of this."

Smiling slyly, Marguerite slid her hand under his coat and hooked her arm around his neck, kissing him passionately. "Then let us not speak at all, my love."

Complying with Marguerite's lead, Percy allowed her to pull him down with her, and the two lovers were soon lost in the love they possessed for each other.


	6. In the Dark of the Morning I'll Warm You

**Ok! Here's the next bit! Sorry it took so long, but finals have been eating my soul. But, now school's out, and I'm going on an extended vacation during which I have time to do nothing but cut grass, chop wood, and write! So, I'll get lots of stuff done then. Expect the next chapter on Sunday, as I am stuck at home for my sister's birthday, and I hate her friends. That entails me sitting alone and writing. Oh joy. This chapter...isn't that great, but it is important, and I even threw in everyone's favorite Spaniard, Teresia Cabarrus! Hooray! But now that this bit's done, I can start making some real chaos...mwahaha! Anyhow, as always, reviews are greatly appreciated. And if you so chose to leave one, please leave me a way to contact you so that I may answer any questions / lavish you with praise. The end.**

**Disclaimer: Lucian is mine! HAHA! But Teresia is not. And neither is the Scarlet Pimpernel, for that matter.**

**Soon the Moon Will Smoulder**

**Chapter 6: In the Dark of the Morning, I'll Warm You...**

Lucian had spent nearly two months in stalemate with his situation, and was growing increasingly restless, his desire to get out of the stifling English society growing faster by the day. None of the children he had enlisted in his service had discovered anything of value, if they had discovered anything at all. Damned useless idiots, all of them. He, though, had been slightly more than productive. In his attempts to find a more efficient way than force to get what he wanted, he had discovered sex to be an extremely effective form of manipulation.

Of course, he did not know this from personal experience, but through observation, he could only assume that he was correct in his assumptions. The length that the lovers in the English society would go was ridiculous, which only went to show the power of it. Now, if only he could control that power…

The minor difficulty that Lucian naturally ran in to was that the English considered the very subject taboo, and it was simply never discussed; children his age were left to discover the changes that age brought on their own, and Lucian was forced to find another means of education. He needed to learn how to seduce a woman, and he needed to know how to do it well. After all, willing devotion with the promise of pleasure was much more effective than forced servitude through fear and threats.

With some minor delving on his part, Lucian had managed to locate a woman that he considered appropriate to be his mentor on the subject. A Spaniard now living in France, the woman once briefly aided the Revolution and was well known throughout Europe for her less than decent behavior and general promiscuousness; the woman went by the name of Teresia Cabarrus, and Lucian had an extremely easy time getting in contact with the Spaniard. Some light delving earned him the woman's address in Paris, and a few days later, a formal letter garnered him a swift response, an intense interest in the boy and the desire to meet with him as soon as it could possibly be arranged.

Thus began their correspondence and their careful coordination to arrange a rendezvous of sorts, but Teresia's circle of associates within England was rather limited and she, quite frankly, traveled in a vastly different circle than Lucian. However, the Prince's Ball was fast approaching, and La Cabarrus had managed to secure herself an invitation to the event, and both she and the so-called young Lord Blakeney would be certain to attend. This woman of the world had more that Lucian wanted than any other, and he would make sure he would have it all.

* * *

"Señora Cabarrus?" Teresia turned around and was met by the golden eyes of the boy she was to be meeting; he was beautiful, that was certain, but she saw no resemblance in the boy to the Lord Blakeney. He must have taken after his mother. But those eyes…where had she seen them before? 

Smiling coyly, she extended her hand to him and as he gently kissed it, she quietly responded, "The very same, Señor. I presume you are Lucian Blakeney?"

"I am. It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Likewise, Señor." There was something inexplicable charming about the boy, and it was this that intrigued La Cabarrus. But despite his allure, there was something…off, not quite right about the pale, yellow eyes; they were too cold, too cruel, too commanding to belong to the son of the admirable Percy Blakeney. But still, the boy exuded a confident but restless dynamic that drew Teresia to him, even more so when the smooth, even voice whispered, "Shall we retire to a less populated room, Señora?"

Gently nodding, she allowed the boy to lead her through the crowd and up to the library, which was completely devoid of others and completely isolated from the noise of the conversation downstairs. Teresia sat upon the couch and watched in amusement as the blonde child fidgeted nervously in a chair directly across from the Spaniard. "You do not look at all like your father, Señor."

"So I have been told," Lucian said quietly, devoid of any emotion. "You should see my brother. He looks much more like my father than I." Grinning slightly as the woman shuddered as his eyes met hers, he softly asked, "What does it matter to you?"

"Nothing much. I just expected to see the very image of Sir Percy." Naturally, she was a bit disappointed that the boy was not more like his father. It was, after all, probably the closest that she would ever get to Percy again.

"Sorry to disappoint."

Something clicked, and Teresia's eyes lit up with sudden recognition. Oh, this could be detrimental Sir Percy's relationship with his wife… "You have quite unusual eyes, Lord Blakeney."

"Shall we dispense the formalities, Madame?" Lucian asked, his voice straining in mild irritation. God, how he hated that name… "My name is Lucian, and I insist on being called as such."

"Of course, Lucian," Teresia said quietly as she leaned in closer to the boy. "But I am curious. You do not get those eyes from your father, and I have only seen their like once before."

"Oh?" Lucian's interests were officially caught. He knew that she had aided the Revolution, and it was likely that she had worked with his father before. How glorious, to have a direct contact like Teresia. "And where is that, Teresia?"

"Nowhere all that important…my former employer had eyes just like yours."

"Agent Chauvelin, correct?" The gold eyes locked with the dark brown ones in a mutual understanding; he knew that Teresia had known the agent, and she had discovered that she was, in fact, not dealing with a young Lord Blakeney as she had previously imagined.

"You seemed awfully interested in Sir Percy, Teresia. What was your relationship with him?"

"We…I…"

"Did you ever love him, Señora?"

Teresia sighed heavily in defeat. She couldn't just lie to the boy. It was definitely not in her best interests. After all, his son or not, Lucian was her best shot at getting close to Percy. "At one point, yes. I think I may still…"

Lucian smiled slyly; everyone was making this far too easy. The Spaniard had just made herself extremely easy to manipulate. Perfect. "Listen to me, Teresia. I need to ask you a favor that is going to greatly help me. Comply, and I shall do all in my power to get you in Percy's good graces. Do we have an agreement?"

She, of course, knew exactly what the snake was trying to do, and Teresia would not stand for it. She had known his father for too long to fall for the same tricks. "Perhaps, but tell me, Lord Chauvelin, how long have you known that Sir Percy is not your father?"

Lucian was taken aback at first – he had never been called that before – but quickly the shock turned into pride. "This is a recent discovery of mine, Señora."

"DoesLord Blakeneyknow?"

"He does, but is unaware of my knowledge of the matter." A brief moment of silence between them and then, almost as an afterthought, added, "Tell me about him."

"What?"

"Don't be daft, Teresia! My father. You have met him, have worked for him, and I, his son, know nothing. Tell me all you can."

Teresia nearly felt bad for the boy; he was falling apart before her eyes, quickly losing his composure and becoming a bit frantic. Sighing heavily, she gently asked, "What is it you want to know?"

"What was his full name?"

"Armand Chauvelin."

"What did he look like?"

"Well, he was tall. Not like Percy, but tall enough. Black hair, the same eyes as you. He was generally broody, many loved him, most feared him, and I have met very few who did not find him attractive. He was not beautiful like you, but in any case, he was handsome."

"And what did you do for him?"

"I did a little spy work for him. Nothing much, really. It was more of a relationship of mutual benefit. I delivered his enemies, and he kept me from the Guillotine in exchange."

Lucian fell silent as he pondered this, clasped his hands in front of him, and quietly asked, "Teresia, were you and he lovers?"

"What a question!" the Spaniard cried as she leaned back, but she was amused at the boy's presumptions. "Though I loved Lord Blakeney, I still had many lovers, but no, Chauvelin was never one of them. He cared for another and remained faithful to her memory long after she left him. A shame, really. It would have done him good to indulge himself on occasion, but I never would have been the one. Our relationship was strictly business."

"I see…" Lucian leaned against the back of his chair and ran his finger over his palm, slowly mulling over all that she had said. Well, this was certainly useful… "He was a faithful man?"

"Very. He was extremely loyal, strictly devout to all he believed in. I cannot say that he was an honest man, but he was true to his cause, which I suppose was a bit of a rarity in the fickleness of the Revolution."

"What was he like?"

Teresia did not speak for a moment, trying to recall the agent from the little she cared to tuck away into her memory. "He was very intimidating, manipulative, and rarely spoke unless he needed something from someone else, but he was extremely charming. He knew exactly how to get what he wanted, and did not hesitate to use vicious means if his charm failed him. He was a very powerful man, and did notthink twiceto wield its full force if need be."

"I see…" His father clearly did not use the same methods as Lucian did. Perhaps he was not as similar to him as he had imagined. Of course, Lucian possessed none of the power that the agent did. Not yet, at least…

Gently grasping La Cabarrus' hands in his own and beginning to tremble nervously again, he softly said, "Teresia, that you knew my father was a pure coincidence of our meeting, and I did not ask you here for that purpose, though it was very useful, and I would like to hear more on another date."

"May I ask, then, what your purpose of meting with me was?"

"Teresia, I need you to teach me how to seduce a woman."

"What?"

Lucian flushed in embarrassment; he may have been French, but he had been raised British, and his upbringing was stepping in and making this extremely difficult and awkward. "I…uh…"

"Dios mio, you are but a child!"

"I am fourteen, Señora. That is well past the age that I became capable of making love to a woman."

Teresia looked at the boy skeptically. "And you want me to teach you how?"

Lucian nodded, his eyes cast to the ground and blushing furiously. "I want you to teach me how to do it well."

Teresia leaned back, thought carefully, looked over the beautiful child. This was Chauvelin's son. She had never wanted Chauvelin, and could say almost with complete confidence that she nearly hated the man. But this was also the foster son of Percy Blakeney, the man she loved, and while he shared no relation, Lucian had still grown up with the man. Percy never could love her, never would love her, would never want her like she longed for him. But here was the boy that he raised as his own son, asking her to get close to him, to take his innocence, to teach him all that her experience had taught her. She could not have Percy, but she could have this boy, and that was probably the closest that Teresia would ever get to the baronet. "When do you wish to learn?"

Lucian's gold eyes snapped up and met Teresia's dark brown ones, stood up slowly, his legs shaking in nervousness, and extended a trembling hand to the Spaniard. "Thank you, Teresia. I can meet you tomorrow evening, if it suits you."

La Cabarrus took the boy's hand and allowed him to help her to her feet. "That will be fine, Lucian. I shall slip you the address of the place I am staying before the evening is out."

Blushing even more if it was even possible, Lucian bent over her hand and kissed it gently. "Thank you. I shall see you tomorrow then."

Frowning in disappointment, Teresia gently ran her hand across his cheek, tilted his head up and forced him to look into her eyes. "Your first lesson, Lord Chauvelin." Without another word, she firmly pressed her lips against the shocked boy's, gently running her hand across his cheek, but her arm wrapped around his waist indicated that she had no intention of letting him go.

For only a moment, Lucian tried to pull away, the British sensibilities nagging at the back of his mind about the improper nature of such conduct. But Teresia slowly drew him closer to her and he could feel the blood course much faster through his veins and felt himself slowly relax and match her movements.

Happy with the results, Teresia quickly increased the contact but was met with resistance and a slight whimper – of protest or pleasure, she was not sure – as she attempted to deepen the kiss. The boy clearly had no idea what to do. Gently caressing his face and neck and kneading the tense muscles of his shoulders, Lucian relaxed and softly moaned as the Spaniard, with painstaking slowness, ran her tongue over his.

He was suddenly light-headed, in absolute bliss, and he had no idea what was happening to him. His body was reacting violently to La Cabarrus' touch, and never in his life had he felt anything like this before. God, he wished he understood what was happening, and without his mind's consent, his hands latched to the woman's waist and pulled her closer to him, doing his best to match whatever it was that the Spaniard was doing.

The young lord whimpered in protest as Teresia pulled away from him and, smiling coyly, ran her hand through his hair, causing the boy to moan in passion. "Your first lesson, Lucian Chauvelin. Always leave the woman longing for the next time she gets to see you. Arouse her, but do not give yourself to her. Comprende?"

Lucian groaned as he dropped to his knees; it was not fair that she was going to leave him like this. He needed her right then, or he was certain that he would die, and she knew that, damn her!

Teresia softly ran her hand over the boy's chest, causing him to moan, whimper, curse, cry out in pleasure, and she softly grinned to herself. Oh, how much fun it would be to ruin this boy. If he reacted this violently to such mild stimulation, she could only imaging the thrill it would be to see him the next night. Slowly walking toward the door, enjoying how the beautiful boy's hungry eyes followed her, she softly purred, "You may want to calm down your arousal before you go back downstairs, amante." Smiling in satisfaction as the heavily breathing boy fell on the ground, she quietly whispered, "I shall see you tomorrow evening, Lucian," and left the gasping boy in solitude.

Lucian lay on the ground for well over five minutes, violently cursing the Spaniard for leaving him like this. Breathing deeply, his fiery blood finally slowed and he managed to regain control over his functions. Teresia had quite effectively managed to give him a glimpse of the power of the weapon he would soon be able to wield. Now, all he had to do was learn to hold himself like La Cabarrus, and all would be well…

How did she do that? Reduce him to nothing so quickly…it was astounding. Lucian slowly stood up, a clever smile playing across his face. Tomorrow evening, he would learn how to do that to people. Simply wonderful. As he stood, the blood rushed to his head, and he had to sit back down as his body suddenly keenly missed the touch of the Spaniard. Yet no matter how he tried, he could not shake the image of Teresia from his mind. Growling in frustration, he stood up and did his best to forget the woman and mingle as he was expected to do. Tomorrow, Teresia would teach him how to do what she did, how to be immune to the effects of passion. It was all well.

* * *

Lucian arrived at the flat where Teresia was staying in London at about six the next evening. What a hell of a time he had getting out of the house without his parents' consent and approval; everywhere he went there seemed to be a member of his family just around the corner. But at last he had managed to get out to the stables and borrow one of Percy's bay horses for the ride to London. By his logic, his family was so used to him disappearing for long time intervals, they would hardly have the time to notice he was gone before he returned. 

He tentatively knocked at the door and a few moments later, the Spaniard has ushered him into the flat and quickly closed the door behind her. "Good evening, Lucian."

"To you as well, Señora."

"Let us get started. No doubt you want to be out of here soon so you can get home without worrying your mother."

"That would be beneficial, yes."

"Good." Teresia slipped her hand under the boy's jacket, thrilled at the response she received from him; no doubt the poor thing was still aching from the night before, and she had every intention of alleviating that now. But before she knew what was happening, the boy had seized her arms and roughly claimed her lips, the need and desire getting the best of him.

She indulged him for only a few moments before pulling away to the disappointment and nearly violent fury of the boy. "Slow, Lucian. The first rule is that you must maintain the upper hand, and you cannot do that if you allow passion to overtake you. Calm down. You want to be distant."

Breathing deeply, doing all in his power to obey the orders of the woman, he slowly managed to maintain control. La Cabarrus kneeled before him, and gently took his hand in her own. "Be honest, Chauvelin. Why do you want to know this?"

"I…I have something I must do. This way seems more effective than any other sort of manipulation."

"You're like your father, you know? All for a cause with no regard for others." She quickly stood up and walked a few paces away, and turned to face the boy again. "It is true that this is the best way, but be cautious, boy. Once you lose control, you lose your advantage, and this weapon becomes double-sided. Control is everything. Make them crazy, but you must remain cold. Remove yourself from them. You do this naturally, I see that, now apply it to this case."

Nodding slowly, he quietly whispered, "I understand, Teresia."

"Good boy. Remember, this is your ground rule. Never forget this, and you can have everything you wish. But once you forget, you will be destroyed. Lust and love are forms of attachment and must be severed completely. They will make you slave to your own desires. Make your women want you, but you must never want them."

"Of course."

"Good. Remove your shirt."

Lucian quickly fumbled with the buttons of his coat, his eyes never leaving the Spaniard's. Throwing the jacket aside, he began with equal haste with his shirt, but the quiet, amused voice told him to slow down, and he complied.

"The slower you go, Lucian, the more control you have over yourself and over them. Remember, they want you, and taking your time makes the ache all the more keen. Now, what do you do next?"

"I…uh…" Rolling her eyes, but smiling in amusement, Teresia slowly walked to him, grabbed his hand and gently placed it on her breast, causing the boy to shiver, flush, breathe much faster, and she softly commanded, "Breathe."

Taking a few deep breaths, Lucian had managed to calm down a bit, but the ache his body caused him was driving him mad; he needed her. Slowly drawing her to him, he gently kissed her neck as his hands undid the laces of her dress, stopping for only a moment as he felt the Spaniard's breath quicken and her hands unfastening the buckle of his belt, and it was not long before both were stripped of their clothing.

Pulling away from the boy's embrace, Teresia slowly looked the boy over. He was indeed beautiful. If his father had been anything like his son, she almost regretted never pulling him into her bed; he was truly a remarkable specimen. "Good, Lucian. Now what?"

"I…" He could not speak. Every word he had ever known had left him. There was suddenly nothing left but instinct, and he passionately kissed the beautiful woman. Slowly regaining some composure, he gently pressed her down on a couch and, her arm wrapped around his neck, was pulled down with her.

Smiling slightly and gently caressing his face, Teresia quietly asked, "You know what to do, verdad?" No answer, but with a growl, the boy gently bit her neck, slowly moved his hips against her own. Teresia sighed slightly; the boy was already gone. Of course, he had never done this before, and it was to be expected. Let him have his way for the first time, but heaven help her, this boy wished to be educated. And she had no intention of letting him leave until he got it right.


	7. So Alive And Still Aching For More

**Well, I promised shorter chapters and more frequent updates, so here's the next one. Short, to the point. Expect lots of these for a while. And as always, reviews are welcome.**

**Diclaimer: Lucian is mine! Teresia is not.**

**Soon the Moon Will Smoulder**

**Chapter 7: So Alive and Stlii Aching For More**

Lucian stumbled through the front door of the manor, quietly closing the door behind him; he had no conception of the time, but judging form the purple color of the sky, he could only assume that it was approaching dawn. Had he really been gone so long? God, he was tired…

He slowly made his way to the staircase, not having the energy to pick his feet up and, with a bit of a struggle, managed to climb the stairs. His body was hardly functioning at all and every thought in his head became muddled in a rush of exhaustion and vague recollection of what had passed between he and La Cabarrus over the past hours of the evening and the early morning. What had they done? Oh, he didn't know at all…

Sluggishly dragging his feet down the hall. He managed to make it to the door of his room and unceremoniously pushed it open and stumbled inside, forgetting the need for silence as he carelessly slammed the door behind him. He dropped upon the bed and closed his eyes, his breath coming shallow and even for perhaps the first time in several hours.

His intentions of falling asleep immediately were quickly destroyed as Teresia's lessons played through his mind. She had said that in order to achieve what he wanted, he could under no circumstances be tied to the lust and desire that he would inflict upon others, and to effectively accomplish this, he must receive no pleasure through the act. La Cabarrus had agreed to help him with this, a feat that she deemed accomplishable through only concentration and repetition, and had arranged for further meetings every other night until the boy was completely removed from pleasure and the natural connection that comes with intimacy.

Of course, Lucian was not looking forward to this; though the evening had been excessively long and extremely tiring, it had been sublime, relieving, and very pleasurable, a release from the tension that constantly nagged at him. The very thought of turning the divine feeling of being one with another into little more than a menial job made him sick, especially when the aftereffects of their lovemaking coursed through his body, making him numb to everything but the dull tingling and the extreme sense of euphoria. He had never been so happy, so relaxed; Heavens it was wonderful…

But naturally, La Cabarrus was quick to inform him that it was this very feeling that spurred lust and yearning, a sort of addiction to the feeling and forced him to crave more at any cost; were he not to fall slave and be destroyed by it, he must sever all attachment to the glorious feeling. If this were the cost of his desired power over others, then it was a small price to pay. After all, the lust for power was an adequate substitute for the lust for flesh…

* * *

Lucian had only to meet with Teresia twice more before the thrill of becoming intimate had worn off entirely and was replaced by a dull, rhythmic sense of routine. It had reached the point where the boy rolled his eyes in frustration when the Spaniard commanded, "Again," reacting in a nearly identical fashion to a child being pulled away from something amusing by a meddlesome parent commanding that the dished be washed. It was quite a chore, and becoming quite the boring one at that. But still he stayed, hoping that Teresia still had something worth to be taught. 

It was only when he realized that the Spaniard's commands of, "Once again," were for her own pleasure that he now felt to be in full control of the situation, entirely dominant, that La Cabarrus had fallen prey to the very lust that she had warned him to avoid; she was of no further use to him. She had taught him what he needed, warned him that his weapon could become his enemy if he were not careful, provided him with invaluable information regarding his father, but she was now of no use; later, perhaps, but no longer now, and that is what mattered.

He indulged the Spaniard for a few moments more, but as she lay in his arms, gently running her hand over his chest, she softly commanded, "Again, amante," and the golden boy tensed. Quickly releasing her, he slid out of bed and rummaged through their discarded clothing, carefully picking out his own garments and pulled on his pants.

Propping herself on her elbows, Teresia looked in minor shock at the boy as he left her side. "Lucian? What's wrong?"

"I am done with you, La Cabarrus," he whispered passionlessly as he pulled his shirt over his shoulders and swiftly did the buttons

"What?" Teresia sat up. Pulling the sheets up to cover her chest. "You can't…"

"You had me for a little while, now I've got to go. It's getting late."

"But Lucian!" She wouldn't let him go. No man left Teresia Cabarrus alone like this! Who did he think he was?

"I have nothing more to learn form you, Señora. You have taught me what I must know, and for that I am eternally grateful, but unless you have been keeping something from me, I am done with you."

"What is it, Lucian?" Teresia cried in a final, desperate attempt to get the boy to stay. He held all the cards, had nothing more to gain from her, could destroy her if he so wished, and it terrified her. His father had done the same to her so long ago… "Was it not good enough for you? Did I not pleasure you to your liking?"

Lucian smiled softly, nearly sympathetically at the frantic woman. Caught in her own trap…so this is what could happen to him were he not always on his guard. "No, Teresia. I felt nothing," he said quietly as he approached the bed, took her in his arms, gently kissed her, "and it is for that I have to be thankful to you. I promise, one day, when I am able, I will return the favor."

"Repay me now and stay with me!"

Smiling softly, kissing her again, he smoothly drawled, "Do not waste this favor on something so fleeting and meaningless as passion. You want Lord Blakeney, do you not? You may well fit into my plan, Señora, and if you are patient, you may well have Sir Percy as your own." He slowly released her, caressed he cheek as he turned away. "Goodbye, Señora Teresia Cabarrus."

"Goodbye, Monsieur Lucian Chauvelin." As the boy turned and left her flat for the last time, Teresia could not repress a shudder as she thought that she had somehow aided in bringing a monster into the world.


	8. A Man Can Learn To Work Some Wonder

**Ok, now the story can finally get rolling! The next few chapters aren't going to be all that long, and I'll be hammering these out like rabbits have babies. But once they are done, this thing can start tackling the "plot", which I haven't even begun to touch on. It's still developing. And I believe I owe special thanks toM****aska, and Zaramoth, who have been extremely flattering and almost ridiculously consistantly reviewing. I'm getting these written as fast as I am because of these guys. So yes. Thank you! I love ya all! Review, damn it! I'm getting to the plot! It's getting good, I think, but if it sucks, let me know. Really, let me know what you think. I get happy and uber fluttery and it makes my week. And the offer still remains: let me know if you want to see something happen, and I will work it in.**

**Disclaimer: Lucian is mine. Gilles is mine. Napoleon belongs to History. And the Scarlet Pimpernel is not mine. But I catually own most of the stuff in this chapter...wow...**

**Soon the Moon Will Smoulder**

**Chapter 8: A Man Can Learn To Work Some Wonder**

A plan was in order. Lucian paced about the room, occasionally throwing furtive glances at the open cabinet drawer, his pale yellow eyes lingering for a moment too long on the black steel blade that lay inside before he returned to his pacing, only finding himself looking back at the weapon a few short moments later. He, naturally, was not allowed within this room, and it was kept under tight bolt to ensure that. But he found that his mother frequented it, and it was during one of these visits that Lucian, in his usual covert manner, managed to sneak around the corner and destroy the lock.

He had only managed to gain access to the room that very afternoon after nearly a week of failed attempts to withdraw himself inside. His family had taken another trip to the Ffoulkes residence for one reason or another and, feigning illness, managed to get the baronet's approval to stay home and, with the meek, feeble insistence that he was fine, had convinced his mother to leave him and accompany the rest of the family. The coach was off, and Lucian sprang out of bed and dashed as fast as his legs could carry him to that forbidden room.

It had been well over six months since he had left Teresia, and the two of them had stayed in close correspondence with each other, the Spaniard delivering the young man information pertaining to his father as per requested. And by now, Lucian had developed an extremely vivid mental image of the agent, while he provided the physical image. The boy was growing quickly, and now at fifteen years of age, he was slowly losing the charming quality that children possess and was becoming instead seductive, extraordinarily handsome instead of fair-featured, muscular instead of lean, and he very quickly found himself in the center of the attentions of the women of the court of England.

But still, he had no plan, no direction. True, he knew almost everything he ever wanted to know about Chauvelin, but he was still far from his goal. Of course, he had no idea what that goal was…

Growling in frustration, he reached into the drawer and carefully withdrew the tricolor sash, held it to his chest, carefully ran his fingers over the smooth material. Think…

The children that he had employed in his services had made a one eighty turn in their usefulness to him. Whereas before they had found nothing, over the past six months, the group of adolescents had discovered a large array of information that Lucian found extremely useful in discovering the people who would find themselves on his list of enemies.

The Dewhurst twins had managed to confirm that their father had, in fact, fought against the agent on the night that he was killed, and the letters that Acton brought him, thought the first few were utterly useless, had direct evidence indicating that Tony and Andrew had been in League with the Pimpernel. Allison had not managed to find anything of value, but that was primarily the fault of her meddlesome brother.

Ellison was a constant thorn in Lucian's side, and he sometime regretted telling him everything he did. But, of course, this would all be too easy and no fun at all had he not had the challenge of evading the "defender" of justice, that he had so aptly named himself. Really, it was a pity that the Lord Ffoulkes was so vehemently against everything that Lucian stood for; he could have been the most wonderful of assets. And then there was Allison…

Allison, she was another matter entirely. She did her best, she really did. Her loyalty was astounding, but that was probably due to the fact that she was hopelessly in love with him. She had apparently discussed this thoroughly with her mother and father, already begged them to consider him as an appropriate husband for her, and the Ffoulkes family could not be more thrilled. The Blakeneys and the Ffoulkes' had been long time friends, and the prospects of their two families joining together was thrilling to say the least.

Lucian wanted nothing to do with it. He would gladly fool around with the pretty thing, if for nothing else, to further infuriate Ellison, but he shrank away from the very thought of anything more than a few sporadic nights of passion. Blake, however, jumped at the thought. That foolish brother of his had somehow managed to find himself in a mess of emotions regarding the young Ffoulkes girl. All the better for Lucian. He may finally be able to control the boy. Allison seemed to still serve a purpose after all.

And while Blake was finding himself in pitiful infatuation, Lucian was quickly taking notice of the somehow superb changes that Helouise was undergoing. She was quickly becoming slender limbed, her hips and chest taking on the gentle curves of womanhood, and everyday became lovelier than the day before. And Lucian was having a very hard time accepting this. His kid sister, the young, innocent thing that he adored, was growing up, becoming a woman. He did not quite understand what was happening, but there was a gradual change in the way he treated her, a certain gentleness accompanied by soft thoughts of the girl. It was maddening…

Lucian cursed loudly, forcefully ripping his thoughts away form his sister and directed them back on track; he needed a plan. He had to avenge his father's death, that much was certain. So naturally, the Pimpernel had to die, and while he was at it, he may as well fell the League as well; any descendants of the League and the Pimpernel were naturally placed on the list of extermination with the rest of them. But the British had greatly distorted the vision of the hero in their worship of him, making him out to be some eight feet in height, faster than a horse, and possessing of the powers to become invisible, among other things. No, he could not trust his sources in England to give him what he wanted as pertaining to the Pimpernel, he would have to venture to France to accomplish that.

Then there was the agent's lover, his mother. His vast network of resources had told him that Chauvelin did indeed love his mother, and he had heard the woman say herself that she had loved him as well. Why, then, leave France for England? It seemed quite obvious to him that his mother and Percy were in love with each other, but that did not explain the affair. Something must have happened in those first years of their marriage, and Lucian was willing to accept that his mother did not love the baronet until Chauvelin was dead. If that was the case, then her marriage to Percy was likely for the wealth, and she grew to love the Lord Blakeney when the agent was dead. Point two being that Lucian now felt obligated to avenge his father's love for his mother. Percy would have to suffer for separating his mother and Chauvelin, no questions asked. But still, he needed to eliminate those assumptions first. Yet another task for France.

And then there was the Republic. Not only did the institution fail, but while he had been living, hundreds of nobles from France had been rescued, which must have dealt some major blows to the agent's sense of pride, not to mention a stain on the face of the Republic. Being that it was what he lived for, Lucian decided that the Republic should be avenged as well. First and foremost, all of the aristocrats that had escaped his father's grasp were to be hunted down and brought to justice. Their very survival was an insult to the Revolution, and that simply could not be allowed to continue. For the Republic, these aristocrats would fall, and Lucian put Suzanne Ffoulkes at the top of that list. She had, after all, been saved by that elusive hero, and therefore must be destroyed; the falcon-eyed child had every intention of the complete extermination of every trace of the hero and his deeds. It was the least he could do.

And then there was the Emperor Napoleon. That pompous ass had single-handedly brought down the Republic. Though the Directory was not the vision of the France that the Revolution created, it was still the image of a government for the people. And along came this man of modest stature and destroyed it, proclaiming himself Emperor of France. He clearly had to fall.

Grinning maliciously and tightly clutching the sash in his long-fingered hands, Lucian ran out of the room to fetch a piece of paper, quickly scribbled down what he now considered to be an appropriate plan of action. All he need do was wait, make sure that those who served him would remain loyal to him when he left. Once his absolute dominance was established, Lucian would be off to France. The wheels had been set in motion, and there was little that could be done to stop them.

* * *

"Lucian!" 

Gilles ran through the mansion, checked the golden boy's room and half the other rooms in the expansive estate before finding the man sitting peacefully in a secluded sitting room, snuggled in an oversized chair and reading a book. Breaking the silence with fast, heavy footsteps, which made the serene reader cringe, Gilles dashed to the chair and knelt beside it, waiving a piece of parchment about and gleefully tugging at the now immensely irritated Lucian's sleeve. "Lucian, I have what you wanted!"

"What?"

"What you asked me to bring you! The addresses! I have them!"

The pale yellow eyes stared blankly into the shining green ones for only a moment before they filled with recollection and then utter joy. Swiftly leaping out of his chair, he grabbed his cousin by the shoulders and swiftly pressed his lips to his forehead. "Oh, you brilliant thing! Dearest cousin, I believe you have just made my month!"

"What? Are these so important?" Gilles asked as he handed the paper over to the impatiently twitching fingers, smiling broadly with the satisfaction of being able to deliver something obviously so important to his beloved cousin.

"If only you knew, my friend," Lucian said absentmindedly as he quickly unfolded the paper and looked over the neat handwriting. "Does your father know about this?" Lucian asked dangerously.

"No Lucian. I kept it secret as you told me to."

Smiling in satisfaction, he tucked the valuable paper into his coat pocket. "What news from France, Gilles?"

"Well," Gilles said softly as he sat down in one of the large chairs, "there had been a temporary cease in Napoleon's military advances, but he has just created a Military Academy, so there is certain to be more fighting."

"Can you venture a guess as to whom between?" Lucian asked quietly as he sat opposite his cousin.

"Being that France has just made a treaty with the Russians, I would guess that he will be going after the Austrians next. There has not been good blood between France and Austria since the Revolution."

Lucian thought this over, slowly nodding as he came to agree with his cousin. "Yes, that makes sense. You're intelligent, Gilles, you know that?"

"Really?" the young St. Just asked in surprise. Lucian was a man of few words, and never wasted any of them. What that boy said, he meant, and it was very likely true. And for Gilles, a complement from Lucian may as well have come from God; he carried himself in such a way that Gilles could not help but simply adore him, yearn to be like him and hope to gain his favor. And it seemed to him as though he had just done that. Gilles could not be happier.

"Yes, I should believe so," Lucian said as he leaned back. "Now, tell me, what think you of the Austrians?"

"The Austrians? I really have no opinion of them, Lucian."

"No?"

Gilles fidgeted nervously, worried that his comment may earn his cousin's scorn. "No, I…that's not bad, right, Lucian?"

Shrugging slightly, Lucian quietly responded, "No, not at all. Good man for being honest." Smiling slyly as he watched the green eyes light up with relief and adoration, he softly asked, "And what of Napoleon?"

Gilles' eyes narrowed in anger. "I hate him, Lucian! Mind you, I love France, but he is ruining it!"

"How so?" Perfect…

"My…my father says that he took the power away from the people and reinstated the class system. The nobles are ruling again, and father doesn't think that's right."

"And what do you think?"

"I…"

"You must have an opinion, Gilles."

"I…I think father is right. I really do. He is attacking everyone, Lucian. He is trying to turn France into an empire." A pause. "Like Rome!"

Lucian smiled, leaned in toward his cousin. "Oh, Gilles, you will be so thrilled if only you knew what I intend to do."

"What?" Gilles asked excitedly.

Grinning softly, Lucian gracefully stood up and, neatly clasping his hands behind his back as he peered out into the hall to be sure no one was there, quietly said, "I am going to bring Napoleon down, Gilles St. Just, and I want you to help me do it."

Gilles stared unmoving at the smug man before him. He was clearly off his rocker. "Lucian, you can't…I mean, how will you do it?"

"Do you remember the Scarlet Pimpernel, Gilles?"

"Yes, of course."

"Do you remember the power that he had in small numbers?"

"Yes…"

"I shall do similar." Lucian knelt before the terribly confused boy, took his hand in his own. "Listen, Gilles. Napoleon needs to fall, and it cannot be too hard to kill the giant. He has too many flaws to last. I propose that we infiltrate his ranks, and destroy him from the inside out. It will be hard, but I am confident that with the resources that I possess, it can be accomplished."

"What do I do?" Gilles asked in a bit of a daze. He somehow doubted that his genius cousin needed him, but if he said that was the case…

"You, Gilles, seem to be quite the apt spy, and I trust you to be able to carry out my plans without flaw."

"You trust me?" the young man asked, a terrible amount of hope in his voice.

Eyes narrowing slightly and grinning all the more, Lucian quietly whispered, "Absolutely." The green eyes filled with utter devotion and unfaltering admiration that the keen gold ones picked up immediately, and Lucian was not one to let opportunity pass him by. Standing up and gently laying his hand upon the young St. Just's head as the green eyed boy dropped to his knees before him, he smoothly whispered, "Swear you will aid me in my mission, Gilles."

"I swear on the good name of my father, Lucian."

"Promise you will follow my commands exactly as given."

"You have my absolute loyalty."

"And you will follow me without question?"

"Yes."

Smiling in triumph as he slowly drew the trembling boy's head to his stomach, running his long fingers through the smooth brown hair, he smoothly stated, "And in return for your service, you shall have anything you wish. Name it, and it shall be yours."

Gilles turned his eyes up toward the man and, in a trembling voice, whispered, "All I want is you to accept me as one of your family."

"Done. I hold you closer than my own brother." Well, they shared the same amount of common blood…

"I am at your disposal, Lucian."

Placing his hands on his cousin's shoulders and holding him at arms length, the falcon-like gold eyes bore into the hopeless devotion of the deep green, Lucian watched in delight as Gilles shivered, grasped his hand and kissed it. How easy this boy was to play…

"Listen, Gilles. As I develop my plan of action, I shall keep you updated. When the time is right, we will strike against the Emperor, but for now, we must keep this secret, lest the enemy get word of our plan and thwart our mission. No one must know, do you understand?"

"Yes, Lucian."

"Good boy." Gently grasping his cousin's arms and helping him up, Lucian put his arm over his shoulder and led him to the door. "I thank you for all you have done, Gilles. I shall send for you as soon as something develops. But for now, tread carefully. We will have enemies everywhere, no doubt. Farewell, cousin."

"Goodbye, Lucian. Thank you."

Smiling softly at the boy, he quietly said, "Think nothing of it, Gilles," before he shut himself up in the room once again, returning to his chair. Grinning maliciously, he couldn't help but laugh out loud; really, his cousin was stupid, but certainly not inept. Oh no, he was rather capable, but had no sense of utility, no way to determine and simply could not discriminate between when his craft was useful and when it would merely get him into trouble. He was merely helping his cousin hone that skill of his. And when he did, Gilles would be quite the ally, and extremely useful spy, agent, whatnot.

And he belonged to Lucian.


	9. And We All Have So Many Faces

**As promised, the next chapter! Alright, I won't ba able to update in the next few days, as I am going to be flying to Sweden and will have no access to a computer until Friday, but I shall be writing a few chapters on the plane and in the airport. So expect updates this weekend. Sometime. Just to clear a few things up for this chapter: in the musical, my friend has pointed out to me that there is abounder who acts quite, shall we say, gay? Summery clothing, netting butterflies and the such. His name is Elton. Being a bounder, I assume he is Percy's friend, and being gay, I assume he has no children. I also assume that Percy knows of his friend's queerness. And he is now in the fic. Just thought you should know. That's all. REVIEW! CAPITAL LETTERS DEMAND ATTENTION AND COMPLETE COMPLIANCE!**

**Disclaimer: Luc is mine, Acton is mine, Andre is Emily's and Percy is the Scarlet Pimpernel!**

**Soon the Moon Will Smoulder**

**Chapter 9: And We All Have So Many Faces**

After politely asking several times, Percy finally caved in and allowed Lucian to have his own study. After all, the young man was so becoming exceptionally good-natured, it was becoming less and less of a challenge to pass the illegitimate off as his own son. Percy passed the boy's previous ill temper off as merely one of the many changes that children experienced as they grew into adults and thought nothing more of it; so long as Lucian continued in the direction that he was heading, Percy took satisfaction in the thought that he had managed to transform that murderous fiend's son into a fine English gentleman.

And for this, Lucian could not be happier. Just as he had no access to Percy's study, there was but a single key for Lucian's that he kept in his possession at all times. He could now run a fully functional base of operations with no fear of discovery. Perfect.

His previous sympathy for the baronet had been consumed into the same, manipulative mindset with which he treated everyone. Of course, that was with the exception of his sister and his mother. Mind you, he had no intention of letting them know of his plans, but he was certainly not out to use them; he cared too much for them to treat them as mere tools.

He slowly walked around the expensive room, gently running his hand across the top of a mahogany desk; such a glorious place. It would serve him well until he had a chance to establish himself permanently in Paris, and as far as he was concerned, he already had an establishment from where he could execute the plans for his vengeance. Being that he was an established lawyer in Paris, Lucian found it appropriate to stay with Andre Madeline. After all, Andre had known and worked closely with his father. The little he did not know he would have Andre clear up for him.

Quickly running from the study, Lucian dashed into his room, removed the floorboard and withdrew his box, looked up and down the hallway, and sprinted back to his study, quickly closing and locking the door behind him. He placed the box on the desk, quickly removed the lid, and with the utmost care, removed the flag of France, the paper that Gilles had brought him, and copies of the letters marked with the Scarlet Pimpernel that Acton delivered to him. Gently running his fingers over the satin material, Lucian placed the neatly folded flag into the bottom drawer of the desk and locked it. Letters, top drawer, addresses, middle drawer, all promptly locked; there could be no risk of discovery.

Looking around the room, Lucian decided that he was satisfied with the layout for the moment and sat down heavily upon the chair, and, folding his arms behind his head, put his feet up on the desk and closed his eyes; life was so good…

A light tapping on the door, and the gently call of, "Lucian?" pulled the golden eyed man out of his elysian surroundings. Frowning slightly, he stood up and opened the door and found the baronet standing there holding a package under his arm. "May I come in, Lucian?"

Smiling slightly, he opened the door wider, motioning for the man to enter. "Of course, father."

Percy stepped inside and, smiling in content, he looked about, softly humming, and sat down in a chair before the desk. "Are you satisfied with your little corner, Lucian?"

"Yes, father," Lucian said softly as he sat back down in his chair. "I thank you. It is simply perfect."

"Splendid! So long as you're satisfied. Now," Percy said quietly as he placed the package on the desk and slid it across to the suddenly curious man, "this came for you today. From Madrid."

"Spain?" Lucian asked quietly, suspiciously turning over the package.

"Indeed. Do you mind informing me how you came upon an acquaintance from Spain, Lucian?"

How to get out of this mess…the package was no doubt from Teresia, and he was well aware that she and Percy were acquainted… "At the Prince's Ball, father," Lucian said quietly as he ran hid fingers over the package. "To get her to let me be, I told her I would marry her…"

"Christ, Luc!" Percy cried as he slammed his hand upon the desk. "You can't tell women those things! They are crazy about marriage and just throwing out vows like that make them worse! This woman is never going to leave you alone!"

"Yes, so I see…"

"And you would lie to be alone? For shame, son! Have I not taught you to be an honest man?"

"Yes, father, but…"

"No more, Lucian. Get yourself out of this mess. That will be challenge enough. Damn Spaniards never let go." Pausing for a moment, his clear blue eyes met the pale yellow. "On the subject of marriage, Lucian…"

"Father, no! Must we speak about this?"

"Luc, you are fifteen years old. It is by time you find yourself a wife!"

"But I don't…"

Percy leaned over, looked seriously into the young man's eyes, hands clasped on the desk. "Lucian, you're not like Elton, are you? Mind you, I don't have a problem with that, but if that is the case…"

"Father!" Lucian cried frantically, blushing slightly. "I am not a homosexual, I swear it!"

"Oh good! That saves the pesky task of adjusting the inheritance! Now, about this wife of yours…"

"Father, you did not marry until…"

"Never mind me, Luc," Percy said frivolously, "we are speaking about your future, not mine. No, son, you need to keep your eye opened. If you do not start looking now, all the girls will already be arranged to other fellows."

"But, father…"

"Now, I do not want anything to do with the arrange of your marriage, Lucian. Go out and find someone you love, bring her home, and you will have my blessing."

"Yes, of course," Lucian said tiredly. Honestly, speaking to the man was such a trial. "Give me some years to find someone? It really is quite trying, and I have not the time, energy, devices or social skills to attempt such a feat."

Percy leaned back, thought this over, finally said, "Well, what about Allison Ffoulkes?"

"Oh no, not Allison, father!"

"She is quite fond of you, Luc. She has actually been asking Andrew and myself for permission to your hand. Have you no interest in her? She is pretty enough."

"That she is, but I have no interest in her. She has been following me since we were young and has never ceased to let me be. She is far too needy for my taste." Lucian leaned back, sighing heavily. Heavens he wished Percy would let the matter drop. Always an uncomfortable subject, marriage. "If you are so intent on joining our two families, why not talk to Blake? He seems to have developed quite the liking for Allison."

"Has he really?" Percy asked, clearly interested. "This seems to have escaped my notice. When did this happen, Lucian?"

"I cannot say. He has always had a liking for the girl."

"Sink me, that is news!" Percy cried happily as he rose from the chair. "I shall have to bring this up with your brother and Andrew presently!" Just before he left the room, Percy lazily drawled, "The Dewhurst men are going to be arriving shortly, my boy. Do try to be sociable."

The door softly closed, and Lucian sprang up, locked the door, and returned to his chair, swiftly unwrapping his package. After quickly reading a short letter from La Cabarrus, Lucian quickly undid the ribbon binding a stack of papers together. Gently running his fingers over each sheet of paper, Lucian carefully read the contents of each letter, savoring each word; these were papers that his father had written, orders and directions addressed to Teresia. She had also included some of the letters that the Scarlet Pimpernel had left behind, along with Chauvelin's notes regarding the cryptic messages and speculations about the elusive hero's whereabouts.

These were the most precious things in the world. To handle his possessions was one thing, but to look upon the elegant scrawl of his father was the most personal thing that Lucian would ever have from the agent, the closest that he would ever come to his father. Not to mention that there was extremely valuable information within the notes and letters, but at that very moment, that was secondary. Lucian was close to tears as he read over the papers over and over again. The smooth, beautiful writing was so like his own; he had never felt closer to Chauvelin than he did at that very moment…

A soft knocking at the door, and he quickly placed the papers into the top drawer; he would look those over later. Slowly standing up, he went to the door, unlocked it, opened it slightly, and peeked out into the hallway, finding himself staring at a patiently waiting Acton Dewhurst.

Quickly opening the door, he ushered the young Dewhurst inside the study and locked the door behind them. "Acton! What have you for me today?"

"I brought you most of the things you wanted, Lucian," Acton said quickly as he pulled some papers out of his coat pocket and placed them on the desk. He took one of the folded pieces of parchment and carefully unfolded it, laid it out across the desk as Lucian sat back in his chair. "Here's the map of Paris," he said quietly as he smoothed out the folds in the paper, "and those are more of the papers from father's study, detailing one of the escape routs that the League used."

"Any closer to the Pimpernel, Acton?" Lucian asked softly as he looked over the papers.

"No, Lucian. Sorry. But I do have the things you wanted me to find in Paris!"

"Excellent. Show me."

Leaning over the map, Acton took a pen and quickly looked over the map. "Coming in from Calais, you would enter in through this gate," he said studiously, circling the indicated entrance with the pen. "The government building is here, and right across from that is the burial site of Saint Chauvelin."

Lucian carefully looked over the map as Acton circled the landmarks. Pointing to the last mark, he quietly asked, "The Saint was set to rest in the Place de la Revolution?"

"Yes."

"How appropriate. It looks really big on the map."

"It is big in actuality, Lucian. It may as well be a Greek Temple. May I continue?"

"By all means."

Quickly circling four other places, Acton stated, "These are the locations of the four addresses you gave me. The home of the soldier Mercier is here, Coupeau is here, and Madeline's residence is here, and the location of his office is here."

"And the soldiers' workplace?"

"They can be found in the new Military Academy, which is here, but they have offices in the government building as well. All you need do is ask for them."

"Excellent well. Good work as always, Acton. And of the Pimpernel?"

Acton shook his head. "My father spews the general rumors of the man, and merely laughs when I ask about the League. He will say nothing."

"We are no closer then?"

Grinning almost maliciously, Acton pulled another note from his coat and placed it upon the desk, keeping his hand upon it. "Oh, I would not say that, Lucian."

Lucian tensed, stopped breathing, quickly stood up, hands planted firmly on the desk and staring with wide, quivering eyes at the note under the young Dewhurst's hand. "Acton…let me see it."

"First, Lucian, you tell me what you're up to."

"Not unless you swear loyalty to me."

Acton looked quizzically at the gold-eyed boy. "And what do I get for it?"

"Anything."

"Anything?"

Lucian cringed; he was letting this child get the upper hand. Like hell he would be exploited by this thirteen year old. Breathing deeply, Lucian calmed his nerves and, with the most poise he could manage, walked from behind the desk, regarding the boy coldly and running his hand over the boy's shoulder. "Acton, I can get you anything you wish," he said quietly, coming to stand behind the boy. He slowly brought his arm across Acton's chest, the other wrapping itself around his waist, pulling the boy against his body. "How would you like my sister?" he asked smoothly, whispering in the boy's ear, and he felt the boy hold his breath; he had him now.

"You are quite fond of her, yes? She is getting quite beautiful, is she not? Have you seen her as of late? She is becoming a woman, Acton. Have you noticed? The long legs, the curves, the breasts, you have seen, haven't you?" The boy groaned and leaned against the man, and Lucian smiled all the more. "She can be yours, Acton. Imagine, that exquisite body all to yourself. Have her to wife, have her to make love to, have her for whatever you wish, Acton, I can give her to you."

"Could you really?" he asked softly, the breathlessness getting the best of him. Heavens how he wanted her…

"Of course, Acton. She trusts no other in the world as she trusts me. I have her complete faith. All I need do is tell her that I find you suitable for her, and she is yours."

"What must I do for you, Lucian?"

"Swear to me your complete loyalty for as long as I need you. You will continue to work for me as you have been, and the moment I have the name of the Pimpernel, Helouise Blakeney will be Helouise Dewhurst."

"You have my loyalty, Lucian." Acton said softly as he took the long fingered hand in his own and kissed it. "Wherever it is you go, I shall follow and obey."

"Good man. Now," he said smoothly as he released the boy and walked around the desk and back to his seat, "give me the letter you have."

Quickly handing over the note to the stoic man, he quickly stated, "That is a list of the names and locations all of the Pimpernel's allies and associates in France. I do not know when the list was created or how many of these people are still alive, but some are bound to still be living, an I can only assume that at least a few of them know the name of the Pimpernel."

Lucian's eyes widened in disbelief; if this was in fact valid, then his search could well be over, his vengeance nearly complete. "Acton, you are amazing."

"Thank you, Lucian."

"Continue the good work, my friend. When shall I see you next?"

"I haven't any idea. Next week, perhaps?"

"Very well. Be sure your sisters come with you. The girls and I have business." Acton bowed slightly before he turned to leave. "I shall put in word for you with my sister this afternoon, Acton. Excellent work. Keep it up." Smiling slightly, the boy left and quietly closed the door.

Smiling to himself, Lucian leaned back in his chair and looked over the names on the list. Oh, revenge was so very sweet…

Of course, he had no intention of allowing Acton anywhere near his beloved sister, but say what people wish to hear, and they shall follow. Foolish boy, to aim so high as Helouise. She was far too good for him, much too good for anyone Lucian knew, to be exact. That, and Helouise belonged to him…

Strange. He had never wanted to own the girl until now. What was that? The girl was extremely intelligent, possessing of a beauty so beyond compare; it could only be natural to want her as his own. After all, she was more than a sister; the girl was an equal, the only person that Lucian had ever considered to be so. And letting her go would be like losing a part of himself. No, it was normal to want to keep her by his side, to never let her go, to want her as badly as he did…

That couldn't be right. Lucian shook his head, cleared the image of his sister from his mind, and concentrated on the task at hand. The Pimpernel had to be brought down; he had no time for women, no matter how much he wanted her, how badly he thought he needed her. Without another thought in the direction of Helouise, Lucian went back to work.


	10. Such Beautiful Lovers Have Found Me

**Ok, I lied. I've completed another chapter before I left. So sue me. And now I'm really leaving. I'll start writing this as soon as I get adjusted, as I know exactly what I shall be doing for the next six chapters. Fun stuff. Ah, anyway, no particular notes for this one besides my general pitching for reviews. This one is pretty straight forward. Enjoy, I really like this one!**

**Disclaimer.As a whole, the Scarlet Pimpernel is not mine. But Lucian and Tacey are very much mine.**

**Soon the Moon Will Smoulder**

**Chapter 10: Such Beautiful Lovers Have Found Me**

For two months, Lucian locked himself up in his study and looked over the information that had been delivered to him, and left the room only if it was absolutely necessary. His father's notes were extremely helpful; the agent had apparently managed to capture several of the Pimpernel's assets, which narrowed the list that Acton brought him, making it that much more accurate and all the more useful. And while the notes did fall short on the path of the Pimpernel, Lucian did learn that his own uncle, Armand St. Just, was in League with the man. And if Armand was fool enough to get caught, he may be fool enough to let slip the man's identity.

As for Acton's list, most of the people listed had been marked as dead by Chauvelin's letters, leaving but two people on the list, one of which was located in Calais, and he could only assume that he was dead, being that the entire city bad burned, killing all those inside. The other was none less than Louise Lange, his uncle's wife. It seemed that every associate of the baronet had been connected with the Pimpernel, and he was beginning to think if it were possible that Percy might have been in League with him as well. It seemed likely; Tony, Andrew, Armand, Louise, Suzanne, Marguerite…they had all some connection to either the Pimpernel or Chauvelin.

Everything pointed to France; this list could not have been all that recent. Perhaps the soldiers or Andre knew of further assets, any possible inclinations that Chauvelin had and did not put down. There was nothing much that held him in England; soon he could leave with no remorse and no regret, knowing that he had left nothing undone, that he had done everything necessary in England before he departed to France, to _home_…

All he need do was ensure the loyalty of the Dewhurst twins and Allison, and that would be easy. He already had those girls wrapped around his finger, and he had yet to unleash that little weapon of his that Teresia had given him the ability to wield. Allow time for setbacks, and Lucian estimated that it could take no more than a year before he left England for good.

And then there was the agent; there was still a huge gap in his knowledge of the man. He knew the entirety of his life during his service in the Revolution, and would be sure to acquire knowledge of his childhood and whatnot from the two soldiers, who he assumed to be close to the man. But that gap…He was well aware that Chauvelin and his mother had been lovers, but he knew nothing of that. And being that the second component of avenging his father was dependant on that knowledge, he could not leave without it. Of course, his key to this knowledge rested in England; why leave without it?

Pushing his chair back, Lucian suavely walked out of his study; time to talk to his mother.

* * *

Lucian nearly killed himself in frustration looking for his mother. Everywhere he went he seemed to run into Percy and was instantly subject to his inane prattle. After hours of tirelessly searching for Marguerite, he finally gave up and wandered out into the gardens for some peace and quiet, and happened upon his mother sitting upon the stone bench in her rose garden, eyes closed, a peaceful smile upon her face.

Smiling softly to himself, he slowly approached the woman, laid his hand on her shoulder, and she tensed slightly in surprise, her eyes shooting open. "Good afternoon, mother."

"Hello, Lucian!" she said happily as she rose and drew the young man to her breast. "It seems ages since I last saw you! I never see you anymore! What is it you do in that room of yours?"

"This and that, mother," Lucian said quickly, brushing the matter aside. "Beautiful day, is it not?"

"That it is." Gracefully sitting back down, she patted the spot next to her. "Come, Lucian. Sit down. Talk to me."

Complying, Lucian sat beside the lovely woman, taking a deep breath, his eyes half closed in a sort of drowsy euphoria; like his mother, he loved it here, in this corner of the estate. She loved it for the home she missed; he for the home he longed for. "You are very fond of your garden, mother."

"As are you, Luc."

"Why?"

Breathing deeply, she quietly said, "It reminds me of Paris."

"You miss it."

Looking her son in his eyes, she could not help but remember his father as those pale eyes bore into her own. "No. I had some good times in Paris, but I belong here in England with my family."

Not what he wanted. Damn. "What good times, may I ask?"

"Well, I met your father there."

_I know that. Tell me about him_. _Tell me about your affair, mother. _"Did you really?"

Slowly nodding and smiling happily at the memory, she quietly responded, "Yes. We fell in love nearly immediately and six weeks after we met, he swept me off to England and we wed."

"And that was during the revolution, correct?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"And you have not been back since?"

Marguerite shifted uncomfortably. "Once, very briefly. Armand had gotten into a bit of trouble and he required my assistance."

Lucian smiled slightly; she went to France to help Armand. That must have been when he was arrested, and that must have been when she and the agent had their affair. The two of them sat in silence for a little while before Lucian softly said, "I must ask you something, mother."

"Of course."

"Have you ever met the Saint Chauvelin?"

Marguerite shivered; of course the boy was going to ask about the agent one day. The boy was extremely smart; no doubt he noticed that she and Percy had been hiding something. She was about to respond negatively, but when her eyes met those gold ones, she could not help herself from uttering, "A few times before, yes."

Lucian's eyes lit up with feigned surprise and genuine triumph; from here on out, he would get what he wanted from his lovely mother. He may not get a confession of their affair, but anything about the man from his mother was golden information. "Really? Where? What was he like?"

Marguerite blanched, held her breath; talk about messing up. But still, she could not refuse to say anything; that would just make it all the more clear that she was keeping something from him. It could not hurt to tell him a little…after all, he did not need to know that she had been Chauvelin's lover. "A few times in Paris, and once here in England. We were…associates of sorts. Not well acquainted, but we knew of each other."

In England? What were they doing together in England? "You…you met with him here?"

"Yes," Marguerite said softly, sighing softly, suddenly missing the agent very much. "He came here to ask for my help in locating the Pimpernel." Laughing nervously, she quickly added, "I couldn't help him, of course."

"He was _here_?" Lucian asked in a daze. She had thought that she meant here in England, but he had been _here_? At the manor?

"Yes, right here," she said firmly as she stood up, forgetting for a moment who she was talking to, and pulled Lucian to his feet, "and he stood right here," she said as she placed Lucian right on the spot, "just so…"

Lucian looked in wonder at his mother, how she had suddenly grown younger before his eyes, had suddenly become somehow…different…

"And I…we stood, like this…" she said softly, slowly becoming absorbed in those golden eyes, the same as his father's. "And I…"

Lucian slowly disappeared and she was alone in her garden with Chauvelin, a look of curiosity and concern – no, longing – in his golden eyes, his hand softly grasping her arm, the other gently brushing her cheek. He said something, but she couldn't hear, and it didn't matter in any case. The man that she had once loved, perhaps somewhere in her heart still loved, was standing before her, and in a moment of desperation, in a final hope that she could bring the man back from the dead, softly pressed her lips to his. Moaning softly, she wrapped her arms about his neck and tender kissed him the way she used to so long ago in Paris…

There was something wrong. This man that loved her did nothing, just stood immobile, did nothing to bring her to him as he should have. Slowly pulling away, she turned deep scarlet, could not breathe, as she found herself looking into the shocked beyond all belief face of her son. She tried to utter a hasty apology, but failed miserably, hung her head in shame. What had she done? Her own son, not his father…she owed him an explanation. What else could be done?

* * *

"And for how long was that again?"

"About a year starting from the summer of 1789."

Lucian and Marguerite sat out in the garden, quietly sipping tea that they had served to them. His mother had just finished confessing that she had, in fact, known Chauvelin, loved him for a time before she hated him, had been his lover for over a year.

"And tell me again why you left him."

"He got too involved with his work and had no time for me anymore. And then I met Percy and fell in love with him. I couldn't be helped, Luc. It was no one's fault, really."

"I see…" That just blew his theory out of the water. True, his mother did once love Chauvelin, but Percy certainly did not steal her from him. It was all bad timing…Of course, she mentioned nothing of the affair that she must have had to conceive him, but he could only assume that it had something to do with Armand; Marguerite was terribly protective of the man, and would stop at nothing to keep him safe…

"But, Lucian, you must promise me that you will not tell your father that I have said this to you! He would be very cross with me were he to know…"

"Yes," Lucian said quietly, tragically disappointed, "yes, of course. I shall say nothing."

"Thank you, my little Luc," Marguerite said as she breathed a sigh of relief, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.

Lucian stood slowly, gently kissed his mother's hand. "If you will not mind too terribly, mother, I must take my leave of you. I do have quite a bit of work that must be done."

"Of course, Lucian. I shall see you for dinner?"

"I would imagine so, yes." Bowing slightly, he slowly walked away back toward the house. It was as if his entire world had been smashed. For one brief moment, he had thought that his mother was still in love with the agent, had leaned over and kissed him, mistaking her son for her lover. But no, she loved Percy. Once, maybe Chauvelin, but no longer. No, she had hated him, and Percy had nothing to do with it…God, why?

Lucian suddenly found himself on his back, unable to breathe at all and having difficulty moving. Quickly managing to free himself, he quickly stood up and glared viciously down at a helplessly giggling Tacey Dewhurst. "What have I said about touching me without my consent! Do you wish to kill me, Madame?" Lucian shouted as the girl slowly stood up, clearly ignoring the harsh tone of the golden-eyed boy. A pity the girl was so stupid…

"Oh, Lucian, do lighten up. You are so much more handsome when you are not angry," she said flirtatiously as she pressed her body against the man's, slowly moving her hand across his chest. "Besides," she sweetly drawled as she cupped his cheek with her delicate hand, "you are going to regret using that tone when you find out what I have for you."

"Oh?" Lucian said quietly as he drew the woman against him, smiling in satisfaction as she slightly gasped. Heavens she was easy to play… "And what have you for me, my darling Tacey?"

Smiling slyly, Tacey wrapped her arms around the boy's neck. "Oh, I don't know. What shall you do for me?"

Catching himself from groaning in frustration, Lucian gently tilted the woman's face up and tenderly pressed his lips to hers, quickly deepening the kiss as he felt her immediate submission. He stayed like that for much longer than he used to, gently running his hands over her back, down her leg, occasionally caressing her face and neck, and gently pulled away from the flushing girl. "Was that sufficient reward, love?"

Smiling mischievously, the girl pulled away and happily skipped back toward the mansion, happily crying, "No!" as she waltzed away, soon to be followed by a furious Lucian.

* * *

The chase had gone on long enough, and after coaxing the girl away form her mother, he had managed to gently escort her to his room, where he viciously slammed the door behind them. He was through with playing this child's games. "Where is your sister, Tacey?" he growled quietly, his calm nearly breaking under the pressure of his rage.

The woman shrank back, just a touch frightened. "Tambre is home sick." Glancing to the side, she quickly looked the boy in the eyes and suspiciously asked, "What do you want with her?"

"Nothing at all. It is you I want. You have something I need, and so help me God, Tacey, if you don't give it to me…"

"Very well, Luc, I'll tell you," she said meekly. The boy was really frightening when he was angry, and she knew full well that she had already pushed his limits. "May I ask you something first?"

Groaning in frustration, Lucian slowly slid his hand over his face and calmed down; unlike her sister, Tacey was stupid. All the better for him, he supposed. Stupidity was much easier to manipulate. "Yes, what is it?" he asked tiredly, no in complete control of his functions.

"Who do you love better, Tambre or me?"

"What?"

"I have seen you and Tambre together before, and you treat her the same way as you treat me. It's not fair! Do you love me or her?"

Grinning slyly, Lucian slowly sauntered toward the flustered girl; never mind him doing any work, this girl was playing his cards for him. She was putting herself right into his hands, and he need not lift a finger. "My dearest Tacey, I indulge your sister, but it is you I love."

"But Lucian, you kiss her just like you kiss me!"

"A mere reward for a job well done," he said smoothly as he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. "I do the same for you. But you…" He swiftly kissed her, gently pulled her to him and slowly kissed down her neck. "You, Tacey, are far more valuable to me. I love you, Tacey."

She shivered in anticipation; this man was extremely attractive, intelligent, and she quite liked him. She only assumed that the way she longed for him to touch her was love, and put it off as that without a second thought. "Do you really, Lucian?"

Smiling coyly, he softly kissed her and began to let her hair down. "Shall I show you, love?"

"Lucian, what…"

"Hush, darling."

She had no idea what was going on, but she liked it. His hands on her waist, his lips on hers, his long fingers gently undoing any fastenings that adorned her dress…oh, it was maddening.

He carefully lifted the girl and laid her on the bed, gently running his hand down the length of her body, smiling slightly as she shivered and moaned. Pausing only for a moment to look the girl over, he quickly began to remove his own clothing and within moments was leaning above the girl, his hands resting just over his shoulders. He leaned down and kissed her for a moment before he slowly pulled away as the woman's arms wrapped around his neck. Gently biting his collarbone, Tacey pulled the boy against her, and gasped slightly as the man set to work.

* * *

"I love you, Lucian."

His back to her, Lucian rolled his eyes at the stupid girl's remark as he pulled on his boot and briefly wondered if he would have this problem with all the women he made love to; the idiot thing suddenly seemed to believe that since they had become intimate, they were in love. Ridiculous. She hadn't thought this way but an hour ago.

Gently running his hand through her hair, he lightly kissed her cheek. "Get dressed, Tacey. Your parents no doubt shall be leaving soon. It's getting late."

"So let me stay here," Tacey sighed happily as she wrapped her arms about the man's waist, gently laying her head against his lower back.

Scowling at the woman, he quickly snapped, "And let Lord Tony know that you have lost your innocence? What would your mother say?"

Flushing slightly, the girl swiftly sat up and clutched her hands to her chest. "Of course, you're right. I'll…I'll do that…"

"What was it you wanted to tell me?"

"Oh. That." She slid out of bed and tentatively picked up her clothing and began dressing herself. "I found out who was there when the saint was killed."

That caught his attention. "Swiftly taking the girl in his arms, he softly whispered, "Who?"

"My father, Lord Andrew, Armand St. Just, your mother and father, and two of the agent's soldiers, Mercier and Coupeau."

A pause, and the man attacked her lips. "You brilliant woman!" he cried, quickly releasing her. "That is the best news I have heard all day!"

"Is it?"

"Without a shadow of doubt!" Quickly kissing her again, he nudged her in the direction of the washroom, with orders to freshen up, for they two would be dining together that evening. When the girl was behind closed door, Lucian laughed nearly evilly in triumph; that confirmed his suspicions. Sir Percy had to be a member of the League. What's more, his very own mother knew the identity of the Pimpernel. Grinning maliciously, he quickly grabbed a pen and wrote the information down, all too clear on it's meaning; Tony, Andrew, Armand or Percy was the Pimpernel. Life was suddenly wonderful.

The girl emerged, mostly decent and, helping her straighten up and regain as much composure as possible, he offered her his arm and the two left to dine.


	11. Let Go Of Each Inhibition

**Ladies and gentlemen, behold! I have kept my promise and wrote a chapter on the plane! So here's this thing...yup, another long one. Oh well. It's a touch redundant for comedic purposes, as I did want to take a slight break from all the hardcore manipulation we've got going here and decided to throw this one together, which establishes my intentions just as well as any other way. So yes, do enjoy. And do review. Really, if you read it, review it. It helps me as an author, I can get you guys the stuff you want to see, and you get this warm, tingly feeling for doing something nice to help the day of a starving college student.**

**Disclaimer: The Scarlet Pimpernel, sadly, is not mine. But Lucian is, as is every other kid in this story. Rocks to be me. Get reading.**

**Soon the Moon Will Smoulder**

**Chapter 11: Let Go Of Each Inhibition**

Lucian stormed through the manor, frantically looking for a decent place to hide; the Ffoulkes family, for one reason or another, was once again at his residence. Damn that whole family; the League member, the escaped aristocrat, the thorn in his side and the smitten woman. Damn the lot of them. Skipping steps as he ran up the stairs, he quickly ran down the hall and pulled at the handle of his study. Cursing violently as he remembered that he had locked the door as he always did, he thrust his hands into his coat pockets and fished for the key. He suddenly stopped breathing, eyes wide in absolute horror; the key wasn't in his pocket.

He quickly patted himself down, examined every pocket, every place that he could have possibly stored it, but to no avail; the key was gone. He panicked. Rushing down the hall as quickly as he could, he dashed into his room and made a beeline for his closet; he must have left the blasted key in another coat.

For near an hour and a half, Lucian searched each coat, jacket, shirt and pair of pants that he owned at least three times in an attempt to find the misplaced key, but the damn thing was, in fact, misplaced and absolutely nowhere to be found.

Upon hearing the soft footsteps of people coming down the hall, accompanied by the inane voice of his brother, and the soft whisperings of Allison, he instantly grew furious at his inability to retreat to the safety of his study; not only was his entire life in there, but the preservation of his sanity at that very moment depended on the access to the room that his own carelessness now kept him from.

He listened carefully, heard Allison and Blake approaching his room, and, cursing fluently, dashed to the window, threw it open, and jumped to the tree that grew just outside. Swiftly climbing down, he sprinted across the lawns and ran around to the front of the house, threw open the front doors, and without a glance in the direction of the Ffoulkes family and his parents as he ran past them, he dashed to the servant's quarters. _He_ didn't lose the key. They must have.

Stopping just outside the door, he scowled at the absolute necessity of entering and lightly tapped on the door with no intention of waiting for an invitation of entry. Three seconds later, he kicked the door in and marched inside, any servants located in that general area quickly parting for the man and rushing as far away as the room would allow; the last time the eldest Blakeney frequented them, he exploded in a violent rage upon an unsuspecting chef on the count that the poor man had not arranged the vicious boy's food in the proper order. Suffice it to say, they stayed out of the man's way, and he did likewise. After all, he only frequented them when he was intent on unleashing Hell. "Jessup!"

Sighing heavily, the man closed his book and stood up; what an amazing task it was to tolerate this boy. "Master Lucian?"

Smiling sarcastically and slowly sauntering toward the man, he bitterly asked, "Are you aware that your entire staff is a collective group of useless imbeciles?"

Raising an eyebrow slightly, he tiredly asked, "Is there a problem, Master Lucian? Have we somehow yet again managed to offend your fragile sense of domestic equilibrium?"

"Very funny, plebeian," Lucian growled as he stood face to face with the stoic man, "but it is far more important than my idiosyncrasies."

"I shall remember that for future reference, sir."

"Shut up!" Lucian quickly paced back and forth before the man. "I have a key that never leaves my possession, Jessup, and its importance to me greatly outweighs the value of the lives of your entire staff. Now," he firmly stated, stopping abruptly before the man again, "my key has gone missing. Your maids must have misplaced it, and I swear to you, if I do not have it back in my possession in an hour's time, I am going to have a mental breakdown."

Jessup indifferently stared at the blonde man, who was now gripping his head and running his hands through his hair in a nervous fit. What a hopelessly impossible boy. "If I may be so bold as to say so, sir…"

What?" Lucian snapped at the man. Oh, he had it with this one…

"How can you accuse my staff of misplacing it when you yourself said that it never leaves your possession?"

Lucian saw red, cried out in fury and stomped his foot upon the ground. "Damn you, Jessup, I will have your head!"

"I somehow doubt that your father would approve of that decision, Master Lucian."

"Argh!" Lucian stormed out of the room in a flurry of curses and death threats, tears of rage and frustration nearly coming to his eyes. Rubbing his temples in an attempt to clear his headache, he slowly made his way to the sitting room in an attempt to avoid the unwanted company of his parents, their guests, and the contemptible Ellison, who was no doubt roaming the mansion in search of hard evidence of Lucian's grand design.

He dragged his feet as he entered the room and grimaced in pain as Blake's inane laughing reached his ears. His eyes shot open and he was about to leave, but his eyes locked with the hopeless adoration of Allison's and he knew he was stuck; leaving would only make things worse. Sighing in defeat, he trudged inside the room, nodding slightly in the girl's direction before throwing himself on a couch facing away form Blake and his little paramour; he wanted nothing to do with them.

Heart rising in her chest, Allison started toward the man on the couch, but a swift hand reached out and gently grabbed hold of her arm. "Why depart so soon, Madame?" Blake asked softly as he brought her hand to his lips.

"But Lucian…"

"Oh, pish posh, Allison, let the good man be. He is tired, no doubt, from his rigorous activities of avoiding the company of others. Come," he said softly, gently tugging at the woman's arm, "let us indulge his whims and retire to a room a bit more…private, if I might be so bold as to suggest it."

But the woman would not have it and refused to budge. "Blake, please, I wish to stay here."

"Very well, Lady Ffoulkes!" Blake cried loudly, grinning softly to himself as he heard Lucian groan, taking satisfaction that the man was likely grimacing in some degree of irritation. "We shall remain here! Let my brother bear witness to our declarations of love, what?"

"But, Blake," Allison said timidly, blushing slightly as she fidgeted in embarrassment, "I…Lucian, he's…and I lo-"

"Sink me, Madame, what is this?" Blake exclaimed, bringing his hand to his chest, feigned surprise in his lazy blue eyes. "Shying away from our affections? La, but what a sweet, modest thing I have caught!" Turning towards the couch, laughing as inanely and as loudly as possible, he cried, "Lucian, my dear fellow! Allison seems to be frightened of publicly expressing our love for each other. Sink me, that is a demned rarity these days, what?"

Face buried in a pillow, Lucian muttered, "Blake, I could not care one way or another. Remove yourself or shut up."

"No matter, my dear boy!" he called, turning his attentions back to the blushing girl. Kneeling before her, he took her hands in his, gently kissing each. "My dearest Allison," he said softly, the foppish mannerism dropping away into all seriousness. "I am well aware that you do not love me, but I, darling, do love you." Smiling softly, a mischievous glint in his eyes, he fished through his pocket, withdrew a small item, held it in the palm of his hand and offered it to the woman. "Allison, my darling love, I give you the key to my heart."

Lucian groaned, turned over, and in a moment of impulse fuelled by the need for quiet – not to mention that the irritating fellow was being horribly clichéd - , threw his pillow at his brother; not only did the young man ever cease to speak, but the very mention of keys to anything made Lucian extremely angry. He had had enough of keys for the rest of the week. But still, the mere mention forced his curiosity active, and he lifted his head, gazing over the top of the couch at his amorously inclined brother. Eyes widened, jaw dropped, and after a few moments of staring stupidly at the boy, managed to stutter, "What – is – that?"

"What, this?" Blake asked in confusion at the suddenly active boy, holding the small gold item up. "I found it!" he chirped happily. "Forgive me, Allison, but this is not the _actual_ key to my heart. I am actually half inclined to believe that hearts do not even have keys! Sink me, can you imagine? But, la, it is a quaint little thing, what?"

"_That's mine!"_

Before he knew what was happening, Lucian had hurdled the couch and was rushing at full speed toward the youngest Blakeney son, a furious look in those pale eyes. Quickly bowing and kissing her hand, he managed a rushed, "Goodbye, my sweet Allison," before taking off away from the enraged man.

The two raced about the estate at full speed, Lucian slowly gaining as they went, neither boy seeming to grow fatigued in the least, but still, Lucian was the bigger, faster man, and when Blake ran back into the room they had left Allison, the vicious boy had managed to tackle his brother to the ground.

Struggling for a moment upon the ground, Lucian had succeeded in getting the boy on his back, straddling himself over the grunting Blakeney and pinning his arms over his head. "Give it here, Blake!"

"How shall I do that, my dear brother? You've got my arms!"

Viciously driving his knee in to the boy's ribs, Lucian leaned down, face to face with the grimacing boy. "Where is it?" he growled viciously?

"In my pocket."

"Which one?"

"Guess."

Crying out in frustration, Lucian placed Blake's hands together and held them with one hand as he sat on the boy's waist, his free hand quickly searching the boy's pockets and running over his shirt as he looked for the possible location of his key.

"You know," Blake said in his usual inane tone, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of his brother, "if you were a woman, this would be quite thrilling."

Throwing his hands up in frustration as he failed to find the location of the key, he got off his brother and, leaning against the wall, patiently waited for the boy to get up.

Blake stood up, rubbed his ribs, brushed himself off, and suddenly found Lucian's fingers wrapping about his throat; just another typical day at Blakeney Manor.

"Where is my key, Blake?" Lucian asked softly, dangerously, his smooth voice straining to keep his calm and control.

"Your key? Heavens, Luc! This is the key to my very heart!" Blake proclaimed as loudly as he was able with those long fingers constricting about his neck. "Why would you ask me for something like that?"

"Blake…" he growled between clenched teeth, holding out his hand. "Give it here."

"Let me go?"

Gold eyes boring into the deep blue for a moment, Lucian slowly let go. "There's a good man," Blake said quietly, gently rubbing his throat. "Now, Allison, as I was saying…"

"Blake! Key! Now!"

Quickly spinning around and feigning surprise, Blake's lazy blue eyes met the furious falcon-like yellow ones. "What is this? Lucian, you wish for my heart's key?" Smiling coyly, he slowly approached the man and ran his hand across his cheek. Nothing like embarrassing the man in front of a lady… "Why, Luc, you cheeky devil, Uncle Elton will be so pleased! I had no inkling that men were to your liking!"

"First off," Lucian snarled viciously, "Elton is in no way in relation to us, Thank God. Secondly, I most certainly am not –"

"You know, father suspected it, but sink me, Luc! With your own brother!"

"Blake…"

"Very well, Lucian," Blake said quietly, gently pressing himself against the extremely angry, extremely flustered man. "I suppose this thing is commonplace," he said softly as he reached his hand down his pants, slowly withdrew it and placed the key in his mortified brother's hand. "Terribly sorry, but though you are most certainly beautiful, I must say that I prefer the ladies."

With that, he spun around and approached Allison, smiling lazily and droning, "Sink me, Allison, but it appears to me that my brother is not very partial to women and seems prone to incest." Gently kissing her hand, he softly whispered, "Please, at least find it in your heart to consider me," before flouncing out of the room and calling for his father in a sing-song voice.

Lucian stood clutching the key to his chest in relief, breathing deeply in an attempt to quell his rage and calm his trembling body down. His key…his beloved key!

Shifting uncomfortably, Allison slowly approached the man she loved and quietly whispered, "Lucian?"

"Can I help you, Allison?"

"If…" Tears suddenly came to the young woman's eyes and, choking back a sob, softly asked, "If I were a man, Lucian, would you want me then?"

"Heavens, this blasted world has gone insane!" he cried, exasperated, as he threw his arms up in the air and fell back into an armchair, running his hand across his face in irritation.

Standing before the man, blinking back tears and regaining composure, she quietly stuttered, "So you…that is to say…"

Peering at the girl through his fingers and growling at the sudden bombardment on questioning his sexuality, his yellow eyes carefully looked the girl over; the way she was standing, and in that light, the pretty thing could almost pass as Helouise…

His arm swiftly snaked around her waist and pulled the startled girl in to his lap. Looking deep into her eyes, gently brushing her cheek, neck, lips with his fingers, he buried his hand in her hair and leaned his forehead against hers. Those eyes…they were nearly the same shade as his sister's…

Flushing slightly, breathing deeper, he drew the woman nearer to him, and with images of Helouise running through his mind, he passionately kissed her.

Allison was fully unprepared for what Lucian was doing to her, and her slightly parted lips provided easy and instant access for the man's passion. And, oh, how she loved him… Gently cupping his face, the softly moaning girl tried to match the experienced man's movements, and though she was a bit awkward in her innocence, her love for him came through as well.

Softly humming a tune to himself, Blake sauntered down the hall back to where he and his brother had their little incident, hoping that Allison would still be there, preferably alone this time. Stepping into the room, he was about to speak, but stopped short as his deep blue eyes discovered the woman he loved in the arms of his brother, her hand under his shirt, his arms encircling her waist, and the two of them becoming increasingly passionate. His heart stopped and he suddenly could not breathe. Feeling himself on the edge of tears, Blake slowly turned away, casting a final, longing glance at the lovers before leaving elsewhere.

Growling in frustration at the bad angle, Lucian moved the girl to lay across his lap, but it did little good; if they were to become anymore intimate than they already were, they would have to break and move elsewhere, where they would have room to move freely, and, preferably, the privacy of a closed door. To the whimpered protest of the woman he held, Lucian slowly pulled away, let his eyes drift open, and his previous arousal disappeared as he found himself looking into the flushed and love filled face of Allison, quite a different woman then he had thought himself to be with. Clearing his throat in embarrassment, he gently slid the girl off of him and, softly kissing her hand, turned to leave the room.

Flustered, a bit confused, but filled with passion and a longing to be touched by him again, Allison quickly declared, "Lucian, I love you."

He stopped dead in his tracks and hung his head in shame; his passion was not meant for her, and the very fact that her love for him was genuine made him actually a bit remorseful. Sighing heavily, but not turning to face her, he whispered, "It would be best for both of us if you didn't."

"But, Lucian –"

"I don't love you, Allison Ffoulkes, but my brother does. Do yourself a favour and try to return his sentiments." Without another word, he left the shocked, nearly weeping woman in solitude.

Lucian slowly walked away, hands in pockets and staring dejectedly at the ground. He had kissed Allison with the notion that he was kissing Helouise. Aside from the fact that it was his sister, this would not have been an issue had he not felt the extreme pleasure and hopeless yearning, that very same mindlessness that he had felt the first time he made love to a woman. He didn't suppose it meant anything, but it was certainly a pleasant change from the usual feeling of absolutely nothing. But still, a close watch was required; keep a close leash on control, that was essential.

Why had he told Allison that? That he did not love her…he most certainly did not, but that hadn't stopped him from saying so before; he did not love the Dewhurst twins either, but he said he did all the time. But then, they didn't love him either, whereas Allison genuinely did; perhaps it was a sort of mutual honesty and deception that he resorted to. If that were the case, then the habit must be broken immediately; the honesty of others was expected, required even, but he was by no means required to do likewise, lest every honest man he happened upon were to know of his schemes. He somehow doubted that this was the reason for what happened between him and Allison.

God, he was thinking of another woman…but then, that was not so unusual. Were he even to feel the stirring in his loins when he was with Tacey, he was forced to turn his thoughts elsewhere. Just now, with Allison, he had no intention of getting so close to her until he thought of Helouise. Perhaps that was it. A sudden – what? Guilt? – for thinking of his sister in such a manor that the mere thought of her could arouse him as it did…no matter. He was probably overanalyzing. He frequently tended to do that.

Stumbling into a sitting room with the hope of finally getting the solitude that he yearned for, his eyes went green with jealousy and he felt his temper rise, as there at the widow, stood Ellison and Helouise in extremely close proximity to each other, the handsome man whispering in to her ear, the young woman's eyes dancing with life and laughter as they always did.

Lucian couldn't help himself; a bitterly malicious smile tugging at the edge of the man's lips, he smoothly drawled, "What, Helouise? Leave me for the likes of him? I simply will not allow it."

Catching sight of her brother, her eyes lit up more than before and she threw herself into Lucian's arms.

Grinning broadly, for the satisfaction of the irritated, vicious glare Ellison was throwing him as much as for having the lovely woman in his embrace, he smoothed back the lovely thing's hair, gently kissing the top of her head.

Wrinkling her nose and feigning disappointment, Helouise looked up into the pale eyes filled with adoration. "I may not entertain the notion of having Lord Ffoulkes? Brother, you are a cruel and wicked man!"

"Yes, so it would seem…"

Leaning up and gently kissing his cheek, she softly inquired, "How are you, brother?"

"Excellent well, now that I have seen you."

With a melodic laugh and, gently hitting the man's chest, admonished, "Lucian, you are little more than a tease! What would mother say?"

Smiling softly, he gently drew her into his embrace again, burying his head in her strawberry blonde hair and inhaling the scent of rose. "I imagine say something to the extent of, 'Excellent work. Keep at it'." Lightly stroking the girl's cheek, he softly whispered, "If you would excuse Lord Ffoulkes and I, dearest?" His cold, gold eyes met the fiery blue ones and they held, boring into each other. "It would seem as though he and I have a matter of business that must be attended to."

"Of course, Lucian!" the girl cried happily, dancing out of the room without another word to the man.

Lucian watched longingly as his sister left the room, and as soon as she was out of sight, he turned back to face Ellison. "You are courting my sister, Ffoulkes?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Chauvelin. As if I would voluntarily attempt to make myself a relation of yours, snake."

"What were you speaking about?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Oh come now, Ellison," Lucian said in false interest. "Play fair, I told you my plans."

"Perhaps, but then again, I'm smarter than you, Chauvelin," he said coldly, a slight tremble of anger underlying his voice.

"Is that so? Which is why, then, I have already assembled the allies and information I need to commence, and you, who know all of my plans and secrets, have yet to find a way to inform anyone of my design and take you seriously."

"You know nothing of what I have done!"

"Oh please, Lord Ffoulkes," Lucian scoffed, slowly advancing upon the enraged man. "Had you managed to succeed in anything, half of England would be in chaos and assembling their weapons. It is not everyday that the most loved of English lords is found to be raising the son of a saint with a revenge vendetta." Gently placing his fingers under Ellison's chin and drawing his face closer to his, he gently inquired, "Who is the smarter man now?"

"Damn you."

"Thought so." Quickly releasing the man, Lucian leaned against the windowpane, gazing out in to the garden with a look of utter triumph written across his face. "Tell me, Ffoulkes, how does it feel to be so close to your enemy and be powerless to do a thing about it?"

Glaring viciously at the man, he coldly stated, "When I have the power to, I will wipe that smugness off your face."

"When you have the power to, I will not be found by you or your allies."

"You will not know who my allies are!"

Leaning close to the lord again, he smoothly whispered, "No, my dear Ellison, but I know who will serve me, and I know better than to trust anyone but my own. Just try to catch me. My numbers will be simultaneously larger and smaller than yours. You cannot win."

"Are you some kind of idiot, Chauvelin?" Ellison sneered scornfully. "How could you be bigger and smaller at the same time?"

Grinning slyly, he smoothly whispered, "Wouldn't you like to know?" Yawning slightly, he added, "Have you not yet developed a plan to defeat me? You can be sure I have one for your destruction."

"Why not get rid of me now?" the boy said scornfully, raising his chest in pride. "It would save you the trouble later when I will make it difficult for you."

"Oh, but Ellison, it makes my little game all the more entertaining. With you out of the way, there is no challenge, and where is the fun in that?"

Ellison looked defiantly into the yellow eyes of his enemy. "There will always be someone to rise against evil."

"Yes, but they are not all whores for justice as yourself, Ffoulkes. What are you doing to my sister?"

"Taking her from your side, Chauvelin," the man said softly, nearly viciously.

"A pity to waste your time with her. She won't leave me."

"What are you doing in that study of yours?"

Grinning maliciously, Lucian quietly stated, "I know the identity of the Pimpernel."

"You lie!"

"Perhaps," he said softly, shrugging his shoulders in indifference as he headed toward the door, "but you can say that in some ways, I have discovered him before he has risen, for when you become that hero, Ellison Ffoulkes, I will know where to find you, and so help me God, you will die."

He nearly laughed, almost jumped for joy as he left Ellison entirely defeated in the other room. Life was a sweet, sweet thing sometimes. He was about to head off in search of his sister when he passed by Blake's room and noticed the boy sitting at the window, staring blankly outside. For some reason or another, Lucian walked in, laid his hand upon his shoulder, smiled softly at the boy as their eyes met.

"Sink me, if it isn't my dear brother Lucian!" Blake cried, trying to sound his usual vacant self but somehow failing; the boy was clearly shaken.

Sitting beside the boy, Lucian softly asked, "What's wrong?"

"Why, Luc! Whatever do you mean?" That genuine, sincere look in his brother's eyes, devoid of all the mockery and bitter sarcasm that they usually held dissolved Blake's attempt at covering up the overwhelming depression that held him. "I saw you together with Allison, Luc."

So that was it. Oh God… "Blake, I –"

"I love her, Lucian. You must have known that, being as smart as you are. But I so suppose the smarter man won, what?"

"Blake, hear me, I do not love her," Lucian said firmly, gripping his brother's shoulders.

"But, why then –"

"I don't know, but what's done cannot be changed. I do not love her, and I told her so. Christ, I even put in a good word for you, if that is any consolation."

Softly smiling up at the man with tears in his eyes, Blake gently said, "I told you I would find some good in you."

Scowling, standing up and heading toward the door, he quietly growled, "Don't think too much of it, Blake."

Sighing in irritation as he entered the hall, he ran a hand through his hair; time to find Helouise. Why, he wasn't exactly sure, but something over the course of the past year had changed drastically between the two of them, and he needed to know what it was. Maybe she had nothing to do with the new way he saw the woman, but he honestly could not say; still, he needed to clear his ignorance of this development. Fool that he was for not taking notice of this earlier!

Walking about the mansion, he at last discovered the pretty young girl engaged in friendly conversation with the adults. Quietly approaching the girl from behind as to not disturb the group, he gently laid his hands upon her shoulders, lightly kneading the muscle as she turned her head and smiled at him.

"Lucian, it has been simply ages since I have last seen you!" Andrew said good-naturedly, extending his hand to the man.

"Indeed it has been," he replied, firmly taking the lord's hand. "You look well."

"So I have been, my good man. You're getting strong, aren't you?"

"So it would seem."

Turning toward Percy, slight laughter in his voice, Andrew lightly said, "Sink me, a strapping young fellow your son is becoming, what?"

"Indeed he is, indeed he is!" the baronet said loudly, his chest swelling with pride. "But sink me, Andrew, my other son tells me that good old Lucian here is heading in the direction of our old friend Elton."

The room fell instantly silent for but a moment and Lucian remained completely stoic. He had seen that one coming from a mile away; trust Blake and Percy to attempt to damage his reputation in a social setting.

"La, but this is news," Andrew said slowly. "Have you consulted Elton about this? He is due back from his recent expenditure to Spain next Thursday."

"Really? That I have not heard. I shall get right on that."

"Father," Lucian said quietly, and the room was instantly silenced, "I am too ill-tempered to be homosexual."

Percy stared wide-eyed at the stoic man in dead silence for half a minute before gasping and slowly stating in an enlightened voice, "Sink me, you are absolutely right! You are simply too nasty to be, you wicked boy!" The room breathed a collective sigh of relief and Percy turned to Andrew, gleefully stating, "Have you ever met a bad-natured homosexual?"

"I can't say I have, Percy."

"And Elton is the most wonderful of lads, what? La, but Andrew, my son may marry your daughter yet! But this is a relief! Demned nuisance, rewriting the will and the inheritance proceedings. Glad to be rid of that dread!"

Rolling his eyes at the tireless continuation of the subject, Lucian grabbed Helouise's arm and gently tugged her in the direction of the door. Smiling and taking his arm, Helouise allowed him to lead her away to a room devoid of their father's inane conversational pieces.

Laughing in amusement as Lucian led her into a room and sat her down on the couch, she managed to softly ask, "And how did our brother manage to reach that conclusion about you liking men?"

Sighing slightly, more tired then anything else, he plopped down next to his sister. "You know Blake…"

"Yes, I suppose so, but even that is a bit extreme for him." Pausing for a moment, she looked at Lucian curiously. "What have you against Ellison, Luc?"

Leaning back, closing his eyes, he shrugged his shoulders, quietly said, "Call it protectiveness." Looking at her, he softly said, "I cannot stand to see him anywhere near you."

"Why ever not? Lucian, I do not believe you have to worry about me when Ellison is around."

"He's a man, Helouise! He's taking you away from me!"

There was something in her brother's eyes that she had never seen before, and it was somehow overbearing, a bit frightening even, if for only the reason that those strange, pale eyes never showed so much feeling, so much passion as they did now. They were always so cold and distant, but they had suddenly changed and she had to look away they were so intense. "Lucian, you can't be the only man in my life, I –"

"Why not?" Yes, what reason existed that said he could not have Helouise to himself? The two of them were so close as it was, what need was there for another to come between them?

"What? Lucian, listen to me!" Smiling softly at the seemingly hurt man, she gripped his hand in her own. "You and I cannot be separated, no matter who comes into my life. You mean so much to me, my Lucian, and anyone who tries to change that will very quickly find an enemy out of me." Gently cupping his face in her hands, she softly asked, "Do you understand?"

Lucian softly moaned, placed his hand over hers. Again with the longing, the need to have her…God, it was monstrous intolerable. He was so certain that he had killed any and all capacity for lust, but heavens he wanted her. This was not right. This shouldn't have been happening to him. Not to him, it couldn't…he couldn't be… "I understand, Helouise."

Smiling softly, she took his hand and gently squeezed it. "Thank you, Luc."

She got up, skipped to the door, and Lucian quickly sprang up from the couch and before he knew what he was doing, called, "I love you, Helouise."

She quickly turned around, looked him in the eye, and went to his side, gently hugged him and kissed his cheek. "I love you too, brother." Throwing one last smile in his direction, Helouise glided out of the room.

Lucian dropped to the floor, his face buried in his hands. He had to kill this, this he didn't know what, but it needed to die right now. This could not happen. His plan for revenge, his weapons against others, they all depended on his ability to keep firm resolve in his course of action, to be sure that no matter what, he kept his eyes on his end goal. But no matter what he did, every thought, every image, _everything_, it all turned to Helouise.

He couldn't have loved her. He didn't love anyone. Not even her. _Especially_ not her. She was a sister, his companion through his childhood, that bright, shining star that always made even the worst of life seem good and peaceful. Quite fond of her, yes. Protective, absolutely. But in love? Never. He couldn't love her. He had been warned that such things were detrimental to everything he stood for; had his father not been slave to his mother, he may still have been alive today. No, he didn't love Helouise…he didn't…

And all the more he thought on it, the more he realized that there was something there that had never been before, something that shouldn't have been there, even without his grand design… Gripping his sides in pain that was not at all physical, he lay on the floor and shivered in the prospects, in the hopes of being able to be near the lovely girl, _his_ Helouise, as soon as it was entirely possible.


	12. But I Will Resurrect That Dream

**Woot to the fast writing, guys! Here's the next chapter, signed, sealed and delivered! I originally hated this chapter, but I went and re-did it, so it's alright now. And now I can get the story up and running, as my set up is done. Prepare to unleash Hell, people!**

**Oh, and just as a cool note. This thing is now, chapterwise, longer than my previous Magnum Opus, Falcon in the Dive, and is 20,000 words longer. I just think that's pretty cool.**

**Disclaimer: Everything mentioned in this chapter is mine! Except for Lord Tony. He's not. And just for refference, in case you're too dumb to figure it out on your own, the Scarlet Pimpernel isn't mine either.**

**Soon the Moon Will Smoulder**

**Chapter 12: But I Will Resurrect That Dream**

The next few months were torturous, and Lucian spent them in solitude as much as he could, and when that was not possible, they were spent out of the company of Helouise. He was well aware of the dangerous game that he had involuntarily began to play, and he avoided the woman at all cost in an attempt to stop the longing and yearning for the pretty thing, hoping beyond all reason that the separation could make him forget her, make him stop loving her. He had even unnecessarily pulled Tacey into his bed in hopes that the intimacy would cure him of the intolerable lust for his sister, but it did nothing and only made him want her all the more.

That minor issue aside, thing were going quite well for Lucian, in a relative sense. Ellison still remained powerless, Tacey, Acton and Gilles were at his every beck and call, and his entire family was entirely ignorant of his schemes. And then there was Tambre, Tony's other daughter. That girl was becoming troublesome. Unlike her sister, she was smart. Far too smart for her own good, unfortunately, and that made her a less that useful asset.

Not that his spies were not intelligent, mind you. Both Acton and Gilles were smart men, but they were loyal, extremely trusting. Tambre was not so. The spiteful girl was suspicious, wary of even the most innocent of things, and that put her at odds with Lucian. Even when he first employed her help, she showed signs of distrust and future betrayal, and those unfortunate traits in her had only magnified; he had to threaten her with the promise of torture and death to get her to help him, and it seemed like it would not be long before he would be forced to make those threats into promises.

She still brought him what was asked of her, but the important tasks he gave to her less intelligent sister; he could not risk Tambre Dewhurst knowing of the base foundation of his plans. It would not be long before the girl would become an extremely valuable asset to Ellison; it was best to exploit her for as long as he could before that time came. Pity for her that Lucian had not even begun to work his charm on her, but it was due time that he did. After all, she could still be of use to him, if for no other reason, to ensure that Ellison could not have her until he was ready to let her go. Time to get to work.

* * *

Tambre walked carefully down the hall, a heavy package held in her arms. She came to Lucian's room, kicked the door, and entered when he opened it, struggling under the weight of the parcel as she walked into the room. She placed the package on the desk and breathed a sigh of relief to be rid of the blasted thing. "And what on earth do you need that for?" she asked impatiently as the man ran his hands over the paper.

"That is my business, Tambre."

"And you made it my business, Lucian, when you asked me to retrieve it for you."

Grinning softly as he unwrapped the package and held up an iron press, carefully examining the backward letters the raised above the even surface. "I like metal, Tambre."

"You like the Revolution, that's what you like," she said firmly as she sat upon the bed. "Honestly, Lucian. Do you think I am daft? Liberte, egalite, fraternite; if it is not a minor obsession to have the revolutionary slogan upon a piece of metal, than I have no conception of what it."

"It is a rather nice slogan, don't you think?"

"A nice idea, but look how that turned out," she said somewhat softly as her deep blue eyes followed the man as he paced about the room, admiring the handiwork of his new possession. "A few years of bloodshed and thousands of people unnecessarily killed. It was a mess."

"Only for a year. The idea was a good one. It started on the right track. Then Robespierre went a touch insane."

"It didn't work, Lucian," Tambre said indifferently. "France is a monarchy again. So much for that idea."

"Idiot, look at America. It works there. Why not in France? It just needs to be handled correctly. All they need to do is get Napoleon out, and they can make the Republic work."

Tambre sat quietly for a moment, watching the man stroke the fine lettering, her mind turning very quickly. "This is what this is all about? You want to make France a Republic?"

Lucian tensed, looked over his shoulder at the defiant woman. "Clever girl, Tambre. How did you come up with that?"

"It was hardly difficult. The obsession with Chauvelin, your new little toy, what you just said. It seems pretty obvious to me."

Smiling softly and approaching the girl, he softly stroked her cheek, kissed her lightly, and quietly said, "That's why I like you, Tambre."

"And there's another thing! What are you doing to my sister?"

"Whatever do you mean, my darling Tambre?"

"Don't you dare pull that on me, Lucian!" she snapped, pushing herself away from the man. "Do you not think I've noticed? Do you think I'm blind? My mother and father may just put it off as her head being in the clouds, but I know better! Some evenings she is completely dazed, and I cannot get through to her. You're doing something to her, Lucian, and I want to know what it is."

"Oh, come now, Tambre," he said quietly, pulling her into his embrace, "you know I do that to people. I can't help it."

"I thought you loved me, Lucian."

Smiling softly, he gently caressed her cheek. "And who is to say I don't?"

"I'm not stupid like she is, Luc! I know you're lying when you say you do. Try being honest for once."

"You want honesty, Tambre?" Lucian snapped, quickly releasing the girl. Christ, she was hard to manipulate! "Alright, here it is. I don't love your sister. Not at all, and you can tell her I said so. She's stupid, and she won't believe you, but tell her anyway if you are so inclined. Between the two of you, she is by far more useful to me. But," he slowly drawled, approaching her again running his hands down her arms, "I like you better. You are much more intelligent than she and I like that. And that is why I still need your help."

Tambre looked at him skeptically. What kind of game was he playing this time? "Help with what?"

Grinning softly, he gently pressed his lips to hers, and she tensed for but a moment before relaxing and kissing him back. He slowly broke, quietly asked, "Do you love me, Tambre?"

"Answer my question first, you snake."

"Insults don't suit a pretty thing like you." Pausing for a moment, loosening his hold on her, he softly said, "I need you to help me keep Allison Ffoulkes away from me."

"What? Why Allison? She is such a sweet girl!"

"Perhaps, but she has developed, shall we say, quite the bothersome infatuation with me, and I simply cannot allow it to continue. Distancing myself from her seems the only viable option."

Breathing a heavy sigh, Tambre tiredly asked, "Lucian, don't you like it when people love you? And I don't think you need to worry about the distancing yourself, you are already a cold, uncaring bastard." Pausing for a moment, she quickly added, "Why just her?"

"There is only her."

"And what of my sister? She cannot get enough of you. Is that not the same thing?"

Shaking his head in disappointment, he softly scolded, "Tambre, I thought you were smarter than that. Tacey doesn't love me." Grinning softly and holding her tighter, he quietly asked, "And the answer to my question?"

"You're attractive, Lucian, and I like to think I don't love you, but I really cannot say. In any case, it's probably not the same thing that Allison feels for you. I don't trust you enough."

Smiling softly and looking down at her lovely features, he softly asked, "Would you believe me if I said that I am quite fond of you?"

"I would believe you if you said that you like me because I have a use to you."

"Ah, but my dear, your usefulness had run out. I really don't need you anymore." Which was true, he wouldn't lie to himself. The only value the Dewhurst twin possessed was the undisputable fact that she could be of use to Ellison, which simply could not be allowed. Not yet, at least. Once he got to France, let her run to the young Lord Ffoulkes, he could care less. But for now, he needed her quiet.

"Then why still treat me like this!" she cried, pulling out of his arms and turning away from him. "You don't need me anymore, so there is no reason to still pretend that you love me."

"Then you really are not as intelligent as I thought," he said softly, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her, laying his head on her shoulder and gently nuzzling her neck. "I said I was fond of you, Tambre. You didn't believe me, did you? Now, let me ask you, if you were so sure I was only using you, why come back to me every time I asked?"

"I…I had always hoped that maybe there was the chance that you were being sincere."

Softly kissing her cheek, he pulled her closer, waited for her to relax against him. "And suppose I told you that I was being sincere, would you believe me?"

"I don't know."

He gently turned her around, placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her head so their eyes met. There was a confused adoration in the girl's eyes, and Lucian couldn't help but smile; he had her. "Then believe me when I say I am honest."

"And if I can't?" she asked softly, completely dazed. Oh, she didn't know anything anymore. She had this nagging feeling at the back of her mind that told her that he was not to be trusted, but those strange eyes of his relayed a certain affection that she was quite certain she had never seen before, and she found herself unable to resist the man any further.

Holding her closer and smiling in satisfaction as she whimpered when he caressed her cheek, he leaned close to her ear and smoothly said, "Then let me show you."

Tambre could do nothing. His arm around her waist, his lips on her own, his hand slowly sliding her dress off her shoulders…it was maddening, a bit frightening, and she could do nothing but trust him. She still was not sure if she loved him, but she did like what he was doing to her, and wrapping her arms around his neck, she silently urged him to continue.

There was something exhilarating in it, knowing that he had this power over a woman who didn't trust him, who was on to his plans, and who he would later be forced to destroy. Conquering her was by far more thrilling than any of his previous victories. Removing the remaining of her clothing, he gently placed her on the bed, leaned above her and pinned her arms above her head. "Promise me you will not tell anyone of this."

"Lucian…please…"

"You want me, Madame? Make me this promise. No one must know."

She stared up at the man for a moment, trying to get her bearings. She knew full well that she was playing into his plans – she had been for the past two years – but she was in this so deep now, that there really was no going back. Slowly nodding, she managed to whisper, "I promise."

Grinning slightly, almost maliciously, he leaned over her, kissed her again. A damn shame, really, that her usefulness had expired. All he could hope to do now was trick her into thinking that she loved him long enough for him to get out of France. Once he was there, let Ellison and Tambre try as they might to raise resistance, they would fail. He could only be damaged here in England, and so long as Ellison didn't have the concrete evidence that Tambre could provide, he was safe. And that was easy enough to do. Lull the woman into a false sense of security, make her trust him, make her think she loved him, and that was easy enough.

* * *

He had gotten up immediately, dressed himself as quickly as possible as soon as he had indulged the woman. It was a waste of his time to spend anymore time lying around than absolutely necessary, and the typical caressing and sweet talking that he engaged in with Tacey were not needed here; she was still of use and needed such attentions, Tambre's use to him had just expired.

Quickly walking over to the woman who lay slightly shuddering in his bed, he smoothed back her hair, gently kissed her forehead. "Get dressed, darling."

Moaning softly, Tambre quietly whispered, "I love you, Lucian."

He stared in mild disgust at the woman. Christ, it was the same thing with all of them! How utterly irritating. Foolish creatures, women were, in the way they took the act of making love as love itself…

He stopped short, eyes widening and a hopeful grin spreading across his face. If he was accurate in his assumption, then Helouise…

"Lucian?" She had the feeling that they had just done something very far from the realm of normal behaviour, and she was terribly confused, and a bit angry about her dependence on the man. Not an hour ago, she didn't trust him. She still did not, but now she was forced to. He had a conception of what had just passed between them, and she was lying there completely vulnerable without an inkling as to what happens next. And, oh how she wanted him to come back to her…

"Get dressed, Tambre. Heaven knows when your father would want you."

"What did we just do?"

Lucian groaned in irritation and made a mental note to only pull stupid women in to his bed in the future. At least they would just accept the pleasure without questioning the reasons behind it or what just passed. "Tambre, listen, it's not important. Get dressed."

"But, Lucian, I –"

"Heavens, Tambre! If you really want to know, ask your father! I am sure he will give you a proper explanation! Now, for the last time, get dressed."

Tambre blushed furiously, held the sheets up to her chest. "Luc, I…I can't do that!"

Sighing hopelessly, he ran his hand over his face. Why, God, would this woman not listen to him? "Either way, Tambre, get dressed. It would do you no good were your father to find you in your current state."

Without a pause, Tambre slid out of bed and began pulling her clothing on. "But, Lucian? I…what happened between us? I believe this is something that I need to know…"

"What do you make of it?"

"What?"

"What I think about what came to pass between us is obsolete. What really matters is what you believe it to be."

"I…" She threw her arms around Lucian and buried her head against his chest. "I think we shared something that only people in love can experience."

He smiled slightly and gently kissed her. "Then let it be so. Now, get dressed."

It took half an hour for Lucian to actually get Tambre to dress herself, and even then, he was forced to do most of it himself, the girl was in such a daze. But he had managed to get her down to her parent's without any incident, save for the fact that the love struck girl would not let go of him, which earned him some perfectly vicious glares from Lord Tony. At least the woman would no longer be a problem to him for the short remainder of time he had left in England.

As soon as he had managed to pry Tambre off of him and bid farewell to the Dewhurst family, he sprinted up the stairs, grabbed his plate of metal, and rushed to his study, quickly locking the door behind him. Placing the item upon his desk, he quickly started a fire in the fireplace on the back wall, returned to his desk, and resumed his admiration of the superb craftsmanship of the iron press. The elegant letters rising up from the smooth surface were indeed beautiful, the entire phrase written backwards and with a shallow downward arch. The entire thing was little more than foot across, but the detail of the work was prominent, even from a distance. Carefully picking up the piece by the wooden handle, he turned the metal to face his body and lightly pressed it against his body; the entire phrase fit neatly across his chest. Perfect.

He carefully laid the steel in the flames, the wood of the handle sticking out past the threshold, and he leaned back in his chair, watching the fire with a look of intense satisfaction on his face. Breathing deeply, he removed his jacket and slowly undid the buttons of his shirt. He wasn't obsessed with the revolution, oh no; he was the living embodiment of it, just as his father had been.

He quickly stood up, draped his coat and shirt across the chair and restlessly paced back and forth across the room. He had everything he needed; he had established permanent allies, made certain that his enemies were temporarily obsolete and knew all he needed for his revenge. England held no more use to him; he could leave…

But that would mean leaving Helouise. Despite all his separation from the girl, he still wanted her, and had managed to come to accept that he was, in fact, in love with the girl. Damn that. So much for heeding signs of his demise. But there was little to be done about that. He had managed to convince himself that, once he had his fill of the lovely woman, he could forget her, put her to the side as he had done with the others; they meant nothing to him, why should she? It was quite possibly nothing more than the thrill of the chase, the desire to have what he could not. Once he had taken Helouise, he would be free of her, and he could leave without the nagging longing that plagued him everyday.

He looked into the fire again and saw the metal glowing a dull red; so it was ready. Breathing deeply and trying to quell the shaking, he reached out with a trembling hand and gripped the handle. Dropping to his knees, he pulled the iron out of the fire and aimed the glowing, red metal to his chest and froze; he could feel the heat coming off the plate, even as he held it half a foot from his body, and it forced him to reconsider his decision making skills. Liberte, egalite, fraternite…everything that he, his father, the Republic stood for was contained in those three words. No, this was necessary; he had already dedicated his heart and soul to his cause. It was not such a leap to dedicate his body as well. Firm in his resolve, he pressed the iron to his chest.

There was a searing pain, an intense heat that ran through his entire body. He trembled, tears filled his eyes, and he bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out in pain, but still he held firm. His body began to go numb, and his entire chest throbbed, the pain dissipating as his vision began to tunnel and the room began to spin around him. He finally removed the iron and cast it back into the flames, and fell upon the ground, sobbing in anguish and clutching at the burned, blackened skin of his chest. Gasping slightly, his eyes slipped closed and he went limp as he fell in to unconsciousness.


	13. No One Moves My Heart But You Come Close

**Damn...at the rate I'm going, this thing will be done in no time at all...Anywho, Hell unleashed on Earth Part 1. Enjoy. Oh, and I expect a reaction from people on this one...review...hint hint...**

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. Pimpernel's not mine, Luc is.**

**Soon the Moon Will Smoulder**

**Chapter 13: No One Moves My Heart, But You Come Close**

He didn't know how long he was unconscious, but when he woke up, the fire had died down and his entire body throbbed, more with shock than with pain. Considering what he had done to himself, the wound across his chest hurt surprisingly little; it was more of a dull ache than anything else. He carefully picked himself up, holding his head as to ensure that his previous dizziness did not return, and ever so gently ran his fingers over the letters that were burned in his chest. The injury looked healthy enough; there was no blood, just the charred skin and the clear signs of healing around the edges. Still, grimacing and shivering at the very look of it, he carefully draped his shirt over his shoulders, went to the hallway, locked the door and retired to his room to bathe; surely the sight of it would look better after it had been cleaned.

* * *

It took a good two weeks for the burn to even resemble skin again. The slogan of the revolution now stood out clearly on his chest, a stark contrast between the dark lettering and the pale skin of the rest of his body. And during those weeks, he had taken the time to convince Percy to let him go into London on his own to visit the tailor. Being the calibre of man that the baronet was, it was a rather easy task, as the man had jumped at his eldest son's sudden interest in fashion and sent him off with a pat on the head and a heavy pocketbook. 

Of course, Lucian had no interest in the latest of high fashion as his surrogate father was so intended to believe. Rather the opposite, as Lucian had grown very quickly tired of the inefficiency of the ornate clothing that was typical of his class; he really had no interest in such things and tended to favour a more simple design. That, and he had discovered that he had a penchant for black fabric. Couldn't say why, of course, but that happened to be the fact of the matter, and the baronet, ever favoring the typical elaboration of clothing that "shimmers", would have nothing to do with such drab colors, preferring reds to the blacks that Lucian wanted. No more of that.

And so, with a sigh of irritation at this menial task and a pocket full of money, the young Chauvelin set off for London to visit the tailor, God forbid. He had to argue with the stupid man for what seemed to be hours to get the man to understand what he wanted; the little man did not seem to understand that the son of Sir Percy Blakeney, baronet, had no interest in his new supply of shimmery reds and yellows. Oh no, the boy wanted black. Monstrous intolerable, that. But, after dictating very slowly exactly what he desired, drawing up a few diagrams as well to aid in his explanation, Lucian had finally succeeded in making the tailor understand the nature of the dress he required. Sighing in disappointment at the simplicity of the task, the tailor set to work, and Lucian went home happy with the promise that his wardrobe would be delivered to the manor by next Thursday.

He had been fortunate enough that when the packages arrived, his family had been frequenting one of the other noble families or another, and as was so typical of him, he managed to be nowhere to be found when they were to leave. And so, nearly skipping up the stairs with his packages, he went into his room and began to pack for his fast approaching engagement in France.

* * *

"La, but it was a shame you did not come, Lucian! The Prince's daughter was asking for you!" Blake cried happily as he followed his brother about the house. "Really, it is a damned shame to upset the pretty girl. You should be a bit kinder to her, brother. Me thinks she has a liking for you!" 

"As does half of England, Blake, and that has yet to effect the way I treat people." Lord, how he hated this incessant prattling. The boy just never stopped. "It is late, Blake. Should you not be in bed?"

"Think about it, Luc!" he cried, clearly ignoring the man. "You could be the next King of England! All you need do is marry the pretty thing!"

Groaning slightly at the boy's idiocies, Lucian quietly growled, "Blake, Charlotte is but thirteen, and I am quite sure she still believes I suffer from some strange male disease that she invented for me when we were young. And who says she is to be Queen? He grandfather is still on the throne. At the rate that family is going, anything can happen."

Blake stopped, looked blankly into his brother's eyes. "But you could be King of England!"

"Heavens, Blake! Are you daft? She is probably already arranged! And as you say, she could well be Queen of England. They are not going to waste their time marrying her off to nobility such as us. Her marriage will probably be to help relations in some foreign country." Pausing for a moment, he added, "What about you? Why not marry her?"

"Sink me, Luc, but my heart belongs to another!" he said quickly, waiving his hand about.

"And who is to say mine does not?"

He stared at the stoic man in absolute shock. His brother? His cold, stoic, unfeeling brother? Grinning and clasping his hands together, he quickly asked, "Oh, Luc, who?"

"I will not say. Not to you, not to anyone."

"Oh please? I do _so_ love gossip!"

"Which is precisely why you shall hear none of it. Let me be, Blake." But the boy continued to follow him, laughing, shouting, questioning, and carrying on like the idiot he was. There must be a way to be rid of him… Stopping suddenly, he turned to his brother, a wicked idea running through his mind. Just how much could he control this boy? Grinning maliciously, he quietly asked, "What of you and Alison?"

Blake stopped, his foppish manner dropping away instantly. "What of it, Lucian?"

"You love her, yes?" he asked smoothly, slowly moving closer to the young man.

"I…I do. But…but she doesn't love me. Not at all. She loves you, Lucian," he said quietly, staring at the ground in hopeless sorrow.

"Ah, but Blake," he said quietly, lifting the boy's head so their eyes met, "she has told me otherwise."

A spark of hope shone in those deep blue eyes, and with an almost pitiful amount of trust in his voice, quietly asked, "Really?"

He smiled, slightly nodded. "Of course. She told me herself that she was quite fond of you. Would you doubt her word, Blake?"

"No, never!" His soul had taken flight. She loved him. She really did! His face fell as he quickly remembered what he had seen pass between her and his brother and couldn't help but think that this was some cruel joke the man was playing on him. "That cannot be right, Lucian. I saw you and her, and you were…I mean, she…and…"

Shrugging slightly at this, he smiled slyly at the boy, gently laid his hand on his shoulder. "That was merely a mistake. A minor moment of passion, I for another woman, and she for you."

"She…she was thinking of me?"

"Indeed she was."

"But before! I told her I loved her, and she did not seem to care!"

"She is a shy thing, Blake. Give her time, and get her alone. Might I remind you that I was in the room with you?"

The man was right, Blake had no doubt. What had he not seen this before? Gasping softly, almost swooning in his love for the woman, he quietly asked, "What do I do, Lucian?"

A sinister smile playing across his face, he leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "Go to her, Blake. Now. Waste not another moment."

"Now?"

"Yes, go. There is no time to lose, Blake, lest you risk her turning her attentions elsewhere."

"Very well. I shall tell father and-"

"No!" he shouted, causing the young man to jump back, startled. Quickly catching himself, he laid his hand upon his shoulder again, and said much softer, "No. Go now, without his knowing. Father would likely deny you permission to go out on your own."

"But, Luc. That doesn't seem right…not tell father? I may as well be defying his orders. No doubt this is against the rules…"

"Well, is that not the risk one takes when in love? There are no rules in this game, Blake. Go, lest you lose her."

Nodding vigorously and practically beaming, he quickly turned away from the man. "Thank you, Luc. You're right. I'll go."

"Good man." The pale yellow eyes watched the boy run down the stairs and out the door, and, sighing happily, Lucian returned to his room. The boy was so easy to manipulate. He might be able to disappear for hours on end without evoking the concern of the family, but should Blake disappear, that precious, best loved son of Percy, there would be chaos within Blakeney Manor. He gave it an hour or so before the entire family was rushing about in search of the boy. May as well deal with Percy before then. Quickly making sure that all his belongings and information were packed for his departure, he left the room to search for the baronet.

* * *

"Lucian! Come in, boy. Sit." Percy quickly put his book down, motioned to the chair opposite him for the man to place himself. "What can I do for you?" 

Lucian sat, crossed one leg over the other, and leaned forward. "Nothing much, father, I just wanted to talk. It had been so long since you and I have had a serious conversation."

"That it has been," Percy said quietly, nodding in agreement. "Very well, boy, what is it you would like to discuss?"

Without a beat, Lucian responded, "Armand Chauvelin."

The entire room grew tense as the clear blue eyes pierced into the pale yellow ones, both men unmoving, and both deadly serious. All pretensions of anything good natured between the two were gone, replaced instead by a vicious conflict spurned by a somehow mutual hatred of each other. "I know nothing."

"You lie, Blakeney. Tell me what you do know of him."

"I have a better idea, Lucian," Percy said softly, almost dangerously, as he leaned forward, "you let the matter drop right now, and I shall forget you said anything at all."

Grinning maliciously and suddenly looking very much like the deceased agent, he smoothly asked, "Why is that, Blakeney? Afraid I will discover something that you want kept quiet?"

Eyes narrowing viciously, Percy growled, "Stop talking…"

"What are you trying to hide, Percy?" Lucian growled back, his eyes narrowing in a similar manner.

"Enough!" Percy stood up, quickly went to leave the room. Damn that illegitimate! How did he even come to know the man's first name? Surely, it was not from him.

"What is it, Blakeney? Did you hate the man so much you refuse to even speak of him?"

Percy quickly spun around, the tension in the room suddenly erupting as his temper got the best of him. "You damn well better believe that is the case!" Pausing to breathe, he quickly snapped, "Where did you learn his name from?"

"That is my business, Blakeney, as are the reasons you hated that man."

"Hated?" Percy said in disbelief before laughing harshly. "No, Lucian, I hated him then, I hate him still, and everyday I hate him more!"

"And why is that, Percy?" Lucian shouted, finally losing his cool and rising from the chair.

"That is my business, Lucian!"

"Is it because mother loved him?"

"It's because your mother had _you!_" It wasn't what he said that turned the rage on Percy's face to shock, it was the expression on the other's face; the sudden surprise and then that victorious, prideful smirk on his face was what forced Percy's temper to subside into a sudden fear. Something in him, deep in the bottom of his soul, recognized that it was just that phrase the young man was waiting for to confirm any shadow of doubt that he was fathered by the agent, not the baronet. And Percy hated him for it.

He had never hated the boy before, rather pitied him, for his lineage was not his choice, but at that moment, Blakeney hated him; hated him for being Chauvelin's son, for being Marguerite's first child, for leading him on with the firm belief that somehow, he could make the illegitimate his own, that he could erase any trace the agent left within the boy. He really believed that he could succeed, fool that he was. But right there, right in front of his eyes, the man suddenly transformed and became the very likeness of his father, the traits he adopted from Marguerite becoming hardly noticeable as the cold, bitter viciousness of Chauvelin overtook the boy. Slowly backing away, Percy turned and left the room to find his wife.

Grinning in triumph, Lucian stood alone in the room for but a moment, waiting for the baronet's footsteps to die down. Percy may well not have taken his mother from the agent, but heaven help him, he would have revenge on the man, if for nothing more, than for hating him like he hated his father. He would have his revenge; on Percy, on Blake, on Napoleon, on the Pimpernel, it would be done. With a sinister smile on his face, Lucian went upstairs to retrieve the sash and sword from the cabinet; he needed them for when he would leave within the week, and while Percy now knew about Lucian's discovery, the man may as well become Chauvelin's son here. Nothing like a head start.

* * *

Percy dashed about the manor in a desperate search for his wife; that son of hers was bad news, and while he had no handle on the man, Marguerite seemed to still possess some sway over the man, and if anyone could bring the bastard to his senses, it was her. Turning a corner, he practically collided with the woman, and just as he was about to speak, she gasped, "Percy, Blake is gone!" 

The baronet blinked, forgot his sudden panic and rage; this was by far worse news. Panting for breath, he weakly asked, "What?"

"Blake is gone, Percy! I cannot find him anywhere, and Helouise has not seen or heard from him for well over three hours!"

That was certainly not a good sign; of all the people in the family, Blake make the most ruckus out of all of them, and one could scarcely go ten minutes without at least hearing the boy. Instantly forgetting about the sudden issue with Lucian, Percy went off in search of Blake. This was his son, his first child, and he would be devastated if anything were to happen to him.

Throwing open the doors of the servant's quarters, he dashed in, found Jessup and frantically asked, "Have you seen Blake?"

"Not for the upper part of three hours, Master Percy."

"Damn it! Will you keep an eye out for him?"

"Of course, sir."

"There's a good man," the baronet said quickly as he ran out of the room and went in search for his missing son. But the boy was nowhere to be found. Finally meeting up with Marguerite, tears hanging in his eyes, he quietly said, "Get the stable hands to get the coach ready. We are going to go look for Blake."

"You haven't found him yet?" the woman gasped, choking back a sob.

He shook his head, trying to regain composure. "No. Come now. Hurry." With that, Marguerite ran off to do her husband's bidding, and Percy ran upstairs very quickly and stormed into Helouise's room.

The pretty girl was sitting upon the windowsill, softly humming to herself when her father walked in, trembling and nearly crying, his entire being in disarray. Quickly sliding down from where she sat, she ran to her father's side, quietly asked, "What's wrong?"

"Blake is missing, and your mother and I are going to go look for him. I need you to stay here in case he shows up. If you find him, send word to Andrew. Do you understand?"

Nodding vigorously the woman quickly responded, "Of course, father." Gently taking his hand and wrapping her arm about him, she soothingly said, "Don't worry. I am sure he is fine."

"I honestly hope you are right." Starting to walk out of the room, he froze and turned back to the girl, suddenly remembering his minor issue from before. "Helouise, do take care to avoid Lucian. He has gone completely off his rocker."

"What? Father, what do you mean?"

"He's…" Swallowing slightly, not wanting to say anymore that he was willing to admit to himself, he quietly whispered, "He's changed, Helouise, and he is not at all the same man you saw this morning." With that, Percy left, and within moments, he and Marguerite had left the grounds of the estate.

Standing in mild shock, Helouise went in search of Blake. Running down the stairs and looking about the ground floor, she suddenly stopped and realized that it was more than likely that her eldest brother knew the exact whereabouts of the younger. Without further delay, she went looking for the man.

* * *

"Lucian!" Helouise dashed up the stairs to her eldest brother's room and threw open the doors and found the man standing at the window, his back turned toward her and his hands clasped neatly behind him. The clear-eyed girl froze; he really had changed. Why had she not seen it before? The boy she had grown up with had suddenly transformed; dressed in black from head to foot, save for the blue, white and red sash he sported around his waist, her once amiable brother had become, imposing, intimidating. 

"Lucian." The girl tread softly into the room, and those pale yellow eyes met hers, filled with a cruelty that was not there before, but that did not stop the girl in her recourse; Lucian did not frighten her. "Lucian, where is Blake?" she asked softly, carefully approaching her brother.

Lucian smirked maliciously, chuckling softly to himself. "Helouise, why does it matter?" he asked in his smooth voice as he took a few steps toward the lovely girl. So quickly had his beloved sister become a woman…

"Lucian, this is your own brother you are talking about!" Helouise shouted. Oh, he was asking for it, damn him! "What's wrong with you? Mom and Dad are worried sick. What have you done with him?"

Softening slightly, Lucian pulled the girl into his embrace and gently stroked her beautiful strawberry blonde hair. "I have done nothing with him, love."

"Lucian, you must have done something!" Helouise cried, pulling away form her brother. "Blake is gone, and you are the only one who does not care one way or another!" Smiling softly and placing her hand on his cheek, she gently said, "I know you, Luc. You know something. Please, tell me."

Lucian put his hand over hers and quietly asked, "Whereare mother and father?"

"Looking for Blake!" the flustered girl shouted as she pulled her hand away from her brother. "Lucian, what are you doing?"

"Where are they, Helouise?"

"On their way to Andrew's estate."

Sighing in minor agitation, the man sat upon the windowsill. "Blake is at the Ffoulkes estate."

"Christ, Luc, what is he doing there?" Helouise asked as she joined the now stoic man at the window.

"I merely wanted to see what I could get him to do. You are aware that he is quite fond of Allison? He has become very easy to manipulate."

"Is this what this is about, Luc?" Helouise asked softly, taking her brother's hands into her own. "You would throw our entire family into insanity for your manipulation games?"

Lucian shivered as Helouise touched him; he never felt this way with the Dewhurst twins, but then, he did not love them as he loved Helouise. "What do you think of Ellison?" he asked mindlessly as he kissed the girl's delicate hands. The young lord, last time he had seen him, was getting extremely close to his beloved sister, and there was the feeling he could not shake that told him Helouise enjoyed his attentions. What those attentions were, he did not know, but the mere idea of her becoming close to another man, especially that one, made him violently angry.

"Answer my question, Lucian," Helouise firmly stated. "You may be able to play most of England, but you cannot do such with me."

"I do it to spite Percy, darling. I do not mean to hurt you."

"You do, Luc."

"Forgive me. It will not happen again." He slid off the windowsill and slowly walked to the door. "Now you answer my question."

"Ellison?" Helouise leaned against the window and thought for a moment before saying, "He is a good man, but there is too little mercy in his heart."

"Do you love him?"

"What?"

Lucian quickly slammed the door and glared viciously at the girl and she paled; what was wrong with him? "You heard me, Helouise," he growled as his pale eyes narrowed dangerously. "And don't you dare lie to me! I know you, you cannot hide from me!"

"No, Lucian. I don't love Ellison. I never could." She was shaking. How quickly her adored brother had changed! "What has happened to you, Lucian?"

"Helouise, I want to show you something," Lucian said quietly as his long fingers swiftly undid the buttons of his coat, his falcon-like eyes never leaving his sister's clear blue ones.

Helouise shivered; the way he was looking at her was new, different, and she had never seen anything like it before, but it sent a rush of heat through her body and she began to tremble. What was happening to her?

Lucian's coat dropped to the floor and he quickly unbuttoned his shirt as he rejoined his sister at the window. "Look." Lucian removed his shirt and Helouise's eyes widened in fear and concern for her brother as the moonlight shone off his alabaster skin and the starkly contrasting dark letters that ran across his chest. She carefully ran her fingers over the letters that had clearly been burned into his skin: Liberte. Egalite. Fraternite… "Lucian, what happened?"

The man shuddered, moaned, pulled the woman against him; how unfair that his beloved sister could not fight by his side for what he believed in. Moaning softly and nuzzling her neck, he quietly asked, "Helouise, do you love me?"

She pulled back slightly, not much, and looked back at her brother's chest. "Lucian, what happened to you?"

"Not now, love…"

"When?"

"Soon," he said softly as he lifted her chin, forcing her to look in to his eyes, "very soon." Looking longingly at the lovely girl, he softly repeated, "Do you love me?"

"Yes, you know I do."

"Ah, but dear girl, do you love me like I love you?"

Helouise was losing herself very quickly in those golden eyes. There was something there, something alluring, enticing, that frightened her, that excited her. She had no idea what was happening, but she was shivering, breathing quickly, felt her entire body grow hotter, and she liked it, wanted the feeling to stay forever, but begged it to go away. Swallowing hard, she managed to gasp, "How do you love me, brother?"

Softly moaning in response, Lucian tenderly pressed his lips against his sister's and nothing else mattered; he loved her, could only love her, and heaven help him, he needed her now. He felt the girl stiffen, try to pull away, but he would not let her go, not now; if she did not want him, he would make her want him. Pulling her closer, he kissed her all the more passionately.

As he felt the girl move closer to him, as she relaxed and wrapped her arm around his neck, he lost all control and let his passions loose, and with new fervor, deepened the kiss. Had this not been what La Cabarrus warned him about? Latching his hands to her waist and pulling her closer, he pushed all inhibitions from his mind; damn the plan, this is what he wanted. But she, she had no idea what was happening, and Lucian had every intention of correcting that. Reluctantly pulling away from the panting girl, he moved behind her and took her into his arms again.

"Lucian, what…"

"Hush. Helouise, I love you, only you, always you, do you understand?"

Helouise could only moan in response. God, what he was doing was torture; so sweet, and oh, how she wanted more, but her yearning for it – for him – only grew as he continued. But this could not be right…this was her _brother_. And though she had no idea what was happening, she had the feeling that they had somewhere passed the boundary of normal bahavior and crossed into something that never should have happened…but still, she liked how it felt, and she did like Lucian…

"I want you to feel something, Helouise. I need to know this is right. You are not like the others and I refuse to treat you like them," the man gasped as he kissed her neck and slid her dress off her shoulders. His hands slowly slid down her body and rested on her leg, and she fell back against him; her entire body had ceased to work and she needed his support to even stand.

"How does that feel, my love?" Lucian asked softly as he ran his long fingers up and down the length of her leg.

"Oh God…" Helouise could not take it anymore. She wanted, nay, needed him to continue or she would surly die. Gasping softly, she quietly whispered, "I love you, Lucian." Sensing her consent, Lucian carefully picked her up and lay her on his bed, and gently lay on top of her. She loved him, and that was all he needed. He kissed her once again, and it was all over between the two of them.


	14. Let the Fever Strike

**Ok, peeps, here's the gig with this one. As if the last chapter wasn't enough hell, this one gets worse, and now I can finally get started on the actuall plot. Just a few quick clarifcations that I though I should make for this one. Henry Cardinal of York was a real historical figure and the facts I've listed about him are accurate. However, he died in 1807 due to disease. So I've taken a few liberties and extended his life a few years, which really wouldn't have effected history at all, as he was totally obsolete. So, being that the current time is 1809, Henry really wouldn't be alive, but we're pretending he is. And you wouldn't have know if I hadn't told you, so there. Don't be picky. And that's the author's note. Oh, and the past few chapters may have been a bit squeemish and gross, and I appologize for that, and it's the last you shall see of that sort of thing for a rather long while. The story gets good now. Promise. And this author is a review whore! Review, and I will give you a piece of my soul!**

**Disclaimer: Everything in this chapter is mine, except for Henry Cardinal, Duke of York. He belongs to history. As does Napoleon. Oh, and Chauvelin and Percy aren't mine either. But this chapter is mostly of my own creation. Yippie!**

**Soon the Moon Will Smoulder**

**Chapter 14:** **Let the Fever Strike**

Well into the night and the hours of early morning, Lucian lay with Helouise, gently holding her, whispering to her in between soft words and tender kisses, and frequently allowing their passions to rise as they gradually became closer, not giving a damn for tomorrow. Were anyone to witness the spectacle, there would be no questioning the beauty of their actions; between the tenderness of his movements and the gentle moaning of her name, the soft calling for the woman, there could be no doubt that Lucian did love her, which of course was the tragedy of it all. Being of the relation that they were, he could never have her, and though he would never accept this, somewhere inside him, he knew this, and it broke him.

As the room slowly became lighter as it approached dawn, Lucian forced himself from the sleeping girl's side and dressed himself in the black clothing, neatly tying the tricolor sash about his waist. Slowly adjusting himself and fastening his father's sword to his waist, he slung the bag with his most necessary possessions over his shoulder, softly kissed the lovely woman, and left the manor for good, taking one of Percy's splendid bay horses with him. He was off to London for a quick errand before heading off to Dover to catch the first boat to France; it was time that England knew they were in a great deal of trouble. And what better way to notify the English lords of the presence of the son of Agent Armand Chauvelin then by doing away with a member of the royal family?

Although he was already a splendid swordsman, he was in sore need of practice in the area of killing a man, being that his revenge depended on such procedures. After all, the first one must have been the most difficult; after that, he figured that one death was very like another. Hence, it was imperative that he had already become at least familiar with the art of the elimination of an enemy before he landed in France. And besides, what was the point of leaving if he did not go out with a bang?

Being that the first was most likely the most difficult and most personal, it was best not to take the life of anyone he knew on a personal level. And so for his purposes, Lucian had selected for his target a certain Lord Henry Cardinal, Duke of York, as his victim. Though the man was not a member of the current royal family, the duke was the grandson of James II of England, thereby making him of royal blood, and thereby of importance to the country. He had never met the man, only heard of him, and figured that he would be appropriately mourned for when Lucian struck him down. Perfect, let England hate him as he had hated them his whole life. He had effectively managed to damage everyone: his father, Lord Dewhurst, Lord Ffoulkes…

Lucian slowed the horse to a stop as his mind quickly reeled; Blake. He hadn't done anything to damage that detestable boy in the least; if anything, he had helped him get what he wanted. In his desire to be rid of him and to see what he could make him do, Lucian had practically delivered the woman his brother loved right to him; with him gone and no attention in her direction, Allison may well return his sentiments, and Blake would have what he wanted. After all, he did now think that the woman loved him. Snarling in anger, he turned the horse around and headed toward the Ffoulkes estate; he could never have Helouise, and he would be damned if he were to let Blake have Allison. The boy already had everything, and it simply would not do that he could have the woman he loved when Lucian could not.

* * *

He arrived at the estate before dawn, the sky still dark, but lightening slightly as the sun began to rise. Riding the horse past the stables and to the back of the house, he looked up to the window that he knew to be Allison's room, smiling in satisfaction as the window was open. Quickly dismounting and tying his bag and sword to the saddle, he climbed one of the trees and easily leaped into the room. Treading softly to where the girl lay sleeping in her bed, he gently brushed back her hair, shook her slightly, and the girl woke with a start, nearly screamed, but he quickly clasped his hand over her mouth. 

Eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness, Allison peered up at her assaulter and her heart stopped as her eyes met the splendid gold ones. Relaxing, gently bringing her hand up to stroke his cheek, the hand was removed from her mouth and she softly whispered, "Lucian?"

"The one and the same, Madame."

Sitting up, she flushed slightly as the man kissed her hand. "What are you doing here?"

Smiling slyly, he whispered, "I have come to confess that I have been a bit dishonest with you, but I must know something before I confess."

She gasped slightly. "Dishonest? How?"

"In a moment, Allison. Blake was here this evening, am I correct?" The girl nodded, and he continued, "And he confessed he loved you?" Again, she nodded. "And he is sure that you love him. Do you?"

"No, Lucian, I…" She gasped slightly, held on to his hand, and breathing deeply, she looked him in the eye and gently said, "I love you."

He smirked maliciously and took her into his arms, gently stroking her hair. "My confession, Allison. I told you that I did not love you in an attempt to help my brother win you, but it is clear that shall not happen." Gently cupping her chin and stroking her cheek with his thumb, he softly said, "I do love you, Allison, and I can only hope that you can forgive me for my previous dishonesty."

"You love me?" she asked in wonder, feeling her heart beat much faster. "Do you really love me?"

Cupping her face and smiling with a viciousness that her love struck gaze was impartial to, he firmly responded, "Absolutely." Feeling her shudder, nearly fall against him, he held her close and gently kissed her, quickly becoming more passionate as she instantly returned the affections. Gently pushing her down on the bed, he softly bit her neck, smiling maliciously as she moaned in response. He would make damn sure that this woman was his, never to be his brother's. He would suffer alone, and there was no reason that Blake should not do the same.

* * *

He had finished with her just as the sun was rising, had gotten dressed and was ready to go. Quickly taking the woman in his arms, he lightly kissed her on the cheek. "I have somewhere I must go, Allison, and I do not know when I shall return. Wait for me?" 

Gasping slightly, and pushing away a bit in surprise, she looked him in the eye and quietly said, "You're leaving me?"

"For a while, yes. But I will be back, I can assure you."

"Where are you going?"

Pausing slightly and considering what he should tell her, he whispered, "France."

"France? Love, that is so far away! What if I never see you again?"

Swiftly kissing her, and going to stand on the windowsill, he replied, "Oh, I can give you my absolute confidence that you shall see me again. Wait for me, darling. I will be back." Smiling softly at the woman's dazed nod, he jumped into the tree, climbed down and mounted his horse; off to London for an engagement with the Duke of York.

The Lord Henry Cardinal was not usually in London, of course, but since it was fast approaching the summer, and the proclaimed "party season", it was not uncommon for nobility of his standing to live in small mansions in London for the time. Fortunately for Lucian, the duke's estate was well known, and it was common knowledge to know the exact location of the residence. Of course, the place was heavily guarded; he was nobility, after all. Sighing in frustration as he galloped across the countryside, he shook his head slightly at the prospects of having to get past the copious amounts of guards and servants. Time to form a plan.

He was almost certain that he was more than capable of outfighting any of the guards; he had spent a good portion of his childhood analyzing several different fencing techniques and had combined what he thought to be the most effective points of each to create an extremely efficient, nearly flawless form of fighting. Of course, the guards more than likely had riffles, so fighting them was out. And he did not particularly want to kill the men; he wanted the first death to be someone of importance, if for nothing else, for the bragging rights that went along with it. No, the man had to be forcefully smuggled out of the mansion, where he would then take him to Dover and do away with him. How to get him to Dover…

Suddenly smiling in triumph, he stopped the horse and quickly dismounted, drawing a pen and blank parchment out of his bag. Why force the man when he would come willingly?

* * *

"Terms of peace?" The Duke of York, Henry Cardinal closely examined the letter and looked at the solemn messenger a bit cautiously. "And why not deliver this to the King or the Prince?" 

"Both George III and his son have refused audience, but the Emperor is insistent that our two great nations work out an agreement, and he has sent me to you as the closest living member of the Royal Family that may have the sense to cooperate."

"You seem a bit young to be an ambassador, boy."

"I am but a messenger, monsieur. Your country has refused our ambassador." On the inside, Lucian was beaming. He was quite certain that he had no skill for forgery, but it was not necessary in this case; the man had no doubt never set eyes on the actual writing of the Emperor Napoleon. And, if he did say so himself, he passed himself off quite brilliantly as a Frenchman, putting on an accent and everything; really, he felt quite clever.

"And he requests an audience as soon as it is conceivably possible?"

"Yes, monsieur, that is the case. The Emperor has grown rather desperate to repair relations with England. It would be extremely gracious of you if you were to accompany me to Dover and leave on the next boat to France."

Carefully looking over both the boy and the note, he shrugged his shoulders, carelessly stated, "I don't suppose it could hurt to leave this afternoon, provided that I am back in two days time."

"Of course, my Lord. I cannot imagine that it will take long to reach an arrangement that is beneficial to both of our nations."

"I can't imagine that it would." Ringing for his servant, he instructed them to let the footman have the coach ready to depart for Dover in a quarter of an hour. Smiling in sinister delight, Lucian went to wait with his horse for the Duke of York.

* * *

"Oh, so you are not too fond of the Emperor, are you, boy?" 

Glancing up from the letter that he had been writing, Lucian slowly shook his head and returned to his work. "No, no not at all."

Crossing one leg over another and laughing slightly, the Duke leaned forward and quietly asked, "And why is that, my boy?"

Not stopping in his work, he mechanically replied, "Primarily because he destroyed any semblance of democracy that we had. A man like me means nothing anymore." Lord, he was growing impatient with the man. His tireless question was extremely trying, but he had managed to earn his trust, and they sat together alone in an inn, awaiting the boat to be ready to sail.

"Good man!" the Duke cried, leaning back in his chair. "France needs more fellows like yourself! Got yourself a head on your shoulders, what?"

"Yes, so it would seem…" He finished the letter, quickly signed his name, folded it and placed it in his pocket, swiftly replacing any unused papers and the pen back into his bag. Sighing slightly, he leaned back, and fished through his pocket for his watch. Half past twelve; the ship wouldn't leave until at least one o'clock. His eyes followed the man in a very predator-like way as the Duke got up and stood by the window. The guards were just outside the door; this would have to be done as quietly as possible. Breathing deeply as he stood up and drew the black blade from the sheath, he silently approached the man as he stood with his back toward him; now was as good a time as any.

Swiftly covering the man's mouth with his hand, he placed the point of the blade on the man's middle back and thrust forward, hardly breathing and closing his eyes as he did it. He felt the man go ridged and fall back against him, and not having any idea what to do, he clasped his hand over his mouth much harder than before and pushed the blade as far in as it would go. A few moments, and the warm, thick liquid spilled over his hand and, eyes shooting open in shock and mild horror, he jumped back, withdrawing the blade and letting the man fall to the floor.

He could do nothing but stand there in shock, eyes wide at the sight of the deep scarlet liquid fast running out of the man's body and forming a pool on the floor. Pulled to his senses as the man gasped and moaned slightly, he ran to the man and dropped to his knees at his side, firmly pressing his hand over the man's mouth and placing the length of the blade on his throat; he could not risk any noise, as the guards may enter and discover him. Pressing down and swiftly pulling back, blood instantly began to run from the man's neck, and there was no more sound from the now still Duke of York.

Lucian was going to be sick. Dropping the sword, he quickly stood up and staggered to the corner of the room farthest from the body and leaned his head against the wall, breathing deeply and heaving violently before he vomited. He instantly regretted his decision. He had just killed a man; an _innocent_ man. This lord had never done him any harm and he held no qualm against him, and now his blood ran over the ground, and he was to blame for it. The sight and smell of it was nauseating.

Dropping to his knees and clutching his stomach, the boy wept. He had not wanted his life to be like this. What he wouldn't give to be able to take it all back and accept things as they were. It was no one's fault. He clenched his eyes shut, desperately wished that it would all go away, that he could return home and apologize to the baronet, thank him for all he had done for him and promise that he would try to be better. He didn't want to hurt anyone anymore; he just wanted it all to go away so that it could be as it always was…

He slowly opened his eyes, the dull yellow catching the red that now covered the room. Things would never be the same, no anymore, not after this. He had crossed the point of no return long ago, he knew that now. There was nothing he could do but rush headlong forward. Perhaps things would be better at the end of all this. Slowly standing up, he dragged his feet to the body, gently kicked it. No response from the lord, and any hope the man had that the Duke was still alive was quickly shattered. Picking up the sword, he listlessly pierced the Duke's abdomen and drew the blade across, up and down, and making a bloody mess of the man's remains. Lucian's mind shut off completely, and was only pulled back when he heard the sailors outside calling for the departure to cross the Channel.

Cursing slightly, he quickly took the letter out of his pocket and thrust it into the body's hand. Sheathing his sword and grabbing his bag, he took one last look about the room and shuddered before he threw open the window and jumped out, pausing for only a second as he picked himself off and boarded the ship that would take him home to France.


	15. Rush In, We Have To Rally and Win, Boys!

**Wooh Yeah to the completion of the first part of the fic! Now the ball gets rolling. Ok, much love to the kind reviewers who have helped me get through all of this stuff! And the author still LOVES reviews! Yes she does! Quick important note for this chapter. The centered italic stuff in the chapter is the letter that Luc wrote broke up into segments for your reading pleasure. Just so you know. I thought you had better know about this stuff. And who doesn't love a nasty letter?**

**Disclaimer: Scarlet Pimpernel. Totally not mine. Scarlet Pumpernikle cake. Yummy!**

**Soon the Moon Will Smoulder**

**Chapter 15: Rush In, We Have To Rally and Win, Boys!**

Percy, Andrew, Tony and Armand raced toward Dover as fast as their horses could carry them. They had arrived at the Prince's Palace not half an hour before with their families, Marguerite throwing them all into disarray by her panicking about her missing son. Blake had first gone missing and as soon as he was found, Lucian had disappeared, and the woman was hysterical, refusing to return to a sensible state of mind until Percy had agreed to find the renegade man. No sooner had they arrived, the steward had informed them that the men were to be off to Dover to help the Prince settle an emergency. Being that the entire castle was in quite a state, the men had gone off immediately.

They were greeted at Dover by a battalion of soldiers guarding a small inn, and quickly identifying themselves and telling the head guard that they had been summoned, the soldiers parted for the man, and the group was led to the room that the prince stood just outside of. Quickly approaching the man, Percy breathlessly asked, "What's wrong?"

Indicating with his head in the direction of the room, he quietly said, "Go have yourselves a look if you so dare."

Taking a short breath, Percy quickly nodded, motioned for his men to follow, and pushed the door open. The four men were instantly hit with the heavy, metallic stench of blood, and reeled back instantly, stomachs turning and choking on the air. Firm in their resolve, Percy led the men into the room, and all of their eyes widened in horror, each man gaping and too shocked to speak.

On the far side of the room is what could have at one time been a man, but the body was so badly mutilated, it was really little more than a shapeless heap of blood and flesh. The entire floor was sticky and stained deep red, and on the side wall, written in large, elegant letters in the vile substance, was "Á bas les Aristos".

All men trying their best not to be sick, the four men rushed to the door, fighting each other to get out of the room as fast as possible. When all men were out, Percy slammed the door, breathing shallow and unevenly, and tremulously asked, "What the hell happened here?"

"The Duke of York somehow winded up here and was murdered." The prince said quietly, gazing helplessly at the floor.

"The Duke of York?" Tony repeated, completely stunned. "Henry Cardinal, Duke of York, _that_ Duke of York?"

"The very same, Lord Dewhurst."

"Lord, how could something like this happen?" Armand asked, suddenly becoming very angry. "Was he not of royal decent? Why was the man not better protected?"

"He was not protected at all, Armand. No soldiers were injured. Our little assassin was a clever bastard and had managed to con him away from his protection before murdering him."

"Christ…this is a national disaster…" Andrew said quietly, staring at the floor in disbelief. "This could happen again to any of us…"

"I do not believe we need to be worrying about that quite yet, Sir Andrew. Our killer is not in England." The men collectively looked up, stared at the prince in anticipation of being enlightened. Slowly looking up and meeting their gazes, he barely audibly whispered, "The bastard left a letter. We know who did it. I think it's best that we return to the palace, men. We have quite a bit to discuss, and it not only concerns us. Your family's best know about this as well."

* * *

_Salutations, Lords of England,_

Percy stared in utter shock at the letter he held in his hands. He must have read it a hundred times, and still he did not understand a word of it. The others had been similarly affected by it and were staring awkwardly into space, at the ground, or at nothing at all. Marguerite sat upon one of the couches, holding on to her two children as if her life depended on it and softly weeping; none of this could have happened. The Dewhurst children were hovering about their mother and father, clinging to hand, clothing, anything they could get their hands on. Allison lay weeping in her mother's arms, Andrew absentmindedly stroking her hair back, and Gilled stood by his father, doing his very best to aid his father in comforting the desolate Marguerite. And at the edge of the crowd, leaning against a mantle with his arms crossed over his chest, was Ellison, glaring coldly in to the group with a look of smug superiority upon his face. And all looked expectantly to Percy, waiting for the baronet to say something, anything that could fix the situation.

_I suspect that by the time you arrive at this location and witness this spectacle, I will already be well across the Channel._

"He's gone to France," Percy said softly, his voice trembling with rage. He stood up quickly, his temper getting the best of him, and he picked up the nearest object he could find and cast it across the room, shouting in furry. "That damn bastard has gone to France! All the work and trouble I go through to keep him from that cursed country and he escapes to anyway!"

"Percy, please don't…" Marguerite sobbed softly, tightly clutching her brother's hand.

"Don't?" Percy asked in disbelief. "Don't? I will do so all I wish! Have you not the faintest idea how bad this is, woman?"

_Quite the surprise, is it not, that the eldest son of Lord Percy Blakeney could become a killer such as myself._

"He is a child, Percy!" Marguerite cried, much louder than before but choking on her words.

"He is a murderer!" Percy shouted at the top of his lungs, his breathing heavy in absolute fury. "You did not see the body, Marguerite! I could not recognize it as a man or animal! Your son is a killer!"

"You helped me raise him, Percy!"

"Which was my first mistake!" the baronet growled, standing in the center of the room, fists clenched at his sides. "I should have killed him when I had the chance!" His light blue eyes suddenly turning to ice, he coldly whispered, "That boy is no son of mine."

Stiffening slightly, and nuzzling against her mother, Helouise softly asked as she began to weep, "Mother, did Luc really kill a man?"

"Hush, my dear."

"Helouise." The stern, firm voice caught her attention and quickly looking in the direction of her father, the baronet whispered, "Lucian is no longer a part of this family, do you understand?"

Sobbing quietly, she buried her head against her mother's chest and whispered, "Yes, father."

_Of course, he knew all along that I was not his child and he was raising instead the result of his wife's affair with another man._

"So…" Tony began timidly as he approached the enraged baronet. "Lucian is not your son?"

Standing in silence, rage choking his words, Percy finally managed to force, "No, he isn't."

"Damn it, Marguerite. We knew you were unfaithful to Percy, but why not tell us about Lucian?" Armand asked quietly, not quite angry but very quickly becoming so.

"Wait, I don't understand," Blake interrupted, all eyes turning on him. "Luc's not my real brother?"

Gently bringing the boy to her, Marguerite softly stroked his hair and whispered, "He is, Blake."

"He isn't, _son_." Percy growled, causing the boy to tense nervously. "That fiend is no more your brother than Satan is!"

"Don't you speak that way about my son, Percy!" Marguerite shouted, standing up from her place on the couch. "Lucian is still my first child!"

"He is a murderer, Marguerite!"

"He is a boy! You know as well as I that boys will make mistakes!"

"Mistakes, yes, but killing people? Marguerite, you have spawned a demon no better than his father!"

"I love him, Percy, and I will not have you speaking about my boy in such a manner!"

"Oh, of course you love him, Marguerite," Percy scoffed, sneering viciously at the proud woman. "He's all you have left of your dear, sweet lover! Well might I remind you that the demon of a man crippled Andrew and shot me! And now his son is going about killing people? Marguerite, your damned infidelities are costing people their lives!"

_The lot of you are fools for not seeing this sooner, for I am told I look so much like my father._

"That's not fair, Percy…" Marguerite said softly, quietly beginning to sob again.

"I say that the both of you are to blame," Tony snapped, finally losing his patience with the bickering couple. "It was both of you that kept this secret from us! Had you said anything, we may have been able to prevent this!"

"Don't you dare try to pin this on me, Tony…" Percy began.

"I agree with Lord Dewhurst," Armand said sullenly, coming to stand beside the man. "We all knew that Margot had an affair, Percy. Would it have been so hard to tell us about the child?"

"It would have been far more insulting!" Percy snapped at his stunned brother-in-law. "I thought I could raise him properly and eliminate any evil that his father passed to him. What difference would it have made if he had turned out right? Why plague him with the knowledge that he was the son of a killer?"

"He wouldn't have had to know, Percy," Andrew stated quietly from the place he sat with his wife and daughter. "We could have kept it from him and collectively raised him. It probably would have been better for us all."

"Why are we discussing this?" Tambre asked, irritated. "What's done cannot be changed so there is no point talking about hypothetical situations.

"How could we not see it?" Armand asked, eyes looking down at the floor. "Those eyes…he looked so much like him…"

"Never mind that," Tambre stated firmly. "What are we going to do about this?"

_Did you honestly believe for a moment that I was as daft as yourselves? I am not blind, lords, and I am intelligent._

"What else can we do but find him?" Tony meekly suggested.

"What, look for that boy in France?" Armand scoffed. "Have you no idea how big France is, Tony? We have no idea where he is going. Even assuming that he goes to Paris, the city is huge. It would take months to find him if we could ever get a lead. He's smart. No doubt he already planned for us to come looking for him and has taken steps to make sure we can't find him."

"Even if that is the case," Andrew said firmly, "the boy must be brought back at all costs. No telling what he will do if we don't keep him under tight watch."

"He cannot be too difficult to find," Helouise said quietly, coming out of her daze, and all eyes were on her. "No one I have ever known but him has eyes like those, and everyone notices them. And if…if his father had the same, he should be easily recognized, right?"

"I don't care how long it takes," Marguerite said softly, "just bring my boy back home to me, Percy."

_Did you truly believe, Percy, that you could hide the truth from me? Pitiful man. I must thank you, though, for providing me with everything I needed to launch my vendetta._

Percy hung his head and stared at the ground in defeat. "This is all my fault…" He hadn't spoken loudly, but everyone in the room had heard and was staring at him intently. "I hadn't raised him right. I…I had always loved Blake more. How could I not? Blake is my first son, and he…Lucian was a stain against my honor…If only I tried a little harder, he may not have turned out the way he did…"

Marguerite slowly approached the man and slipped her arms about his waist, leaning her head against his chest. "Hush now, Percy. It's alright. We all understand. There is nothing you could have done…"

Sighing heavily, he held the woman tightly. "My love, you don't understand. He came to me just yesterday and asked about his father. And I…I lost my temper. I couldn't help myself…and I told him, indirectly, that he was not my son…that I hated him for it, and I…he had this look on his face, and he…he looked just like _him_, Margot."

Smiling sadly, gently brushing her husband's cheek, she softly said, "Do not blame yourself for that, darling. He must have known before then. I mistakenly told him that his father and I were lovers before I married you."

"But that doesn't explain how he knew about your affair and his conception therefore."

"No, but he's a smart boy, Percy. I am sure my talk with him gave him the evidence he needed. He must have known we were hiding something from him."

_Are you at all ashamed, Lord Andrew, for not heeding the warnings of your son before this happened? You should be. Imagine, this could have all been stopped before it had begun if you had merely taken the boy even a bit seriously instead of brushing it off as mere child's play._

"Percy…" Andrew said timidly, looking at the floor. "I do not believe either of those are the reasons for Lucian's knowledge of all of this. My son had told me about this two years ago." Hanging his head, shoulders shaking, he quietly said, "I'm sorry. I should have told you."

"I told you you should have." All eyes turned to Ellison for the first time that evening. The boy was indeed looking very smug, despite the circumstances. Everyone now turned to him for guidance, just as the little devil said they would. They needed him. "I even told you before then that I thought he was bad news, but no. Let us not listen to little Ellison. He's not the charming golden boy of the English court. Yeah, well he isn't the son of the murderer and the whore either." Smiling slightly, and approaching the devastated group, he smugly stated, "I know all of the little bastard's plans."

_I have the full support I need, gentlemen, to carry out the full extent of my plans with little difficulty. You have seen what I have already done here right under your noses. Imagine what I shall be capable of doing with all of France at my every beck and call._

"What do you know, Ellison?" Percy asked quietly, looking at the boy with firm, blue eyes.

Grinning in satisfaction, Ellison slowly stated, "I know what he intends to do, and that is only the start. He has told me his entire revenge agenda."

"Revenge?" Percy asked, stunned. "He's doing this all for revenge?"

"All of it for revenge," the boy softly restated. "Revenge for his father's murder against the Pimpernel, against the run-away aristocrats of France, and against yourself, Sir Percy."

Percy blanched. "What?"

"You heard me, Lord Blakeney. Revenge against the Pimpernel for killing his father. Revenge against the aristocrats for eluding the Guillotine with the Pimpernel's help." Turning to Suzanne, he coldly stated, "You're on the top of his list, mother."

Andrew gasped, fell back slightly. "No…that can't be…"

"You had better believe it is so, father. I do not know why he is after you, Sir Percy. He merely said that he had a personal vendetta against you, but I can only assume that it is because he never had the father that he wanted."

The group was in shock. Finally, Percy managed a weak, "What do we do?"

_Can you see the amount of havoc I can wreck for being something as simple as the son of France's beloved saint? Think of the amount of power I will soon be able to wield, all of which will be used against you lot to bring about the destruction of the enemies I have already marked for death._

Ellison grinned almost maliciously. "That is easy, Lord Blakeney. We kill him."

Blake instantly jumped up. "No! We can't! I don't care what my father says, Luc is still my brother, and I know there is good in him. I have seen it!"

"There is no soul in that man, Blake," Ellison said coldly.

"There is! There must be another way. Luc is not a bad man, and I am sure he is awful sorry for what he is done. We can't just kill him! If we can save him, I think we should try all we can to do so."

"Impossible. He will fight with all he's worth until we are all dead or he is. There is no other way to stop him. He is ruthless, and so must we be. Lucian Chauvelin must die."

"No…he can live…"

"What do you suggest we do, Ellison?" Armand asked cautiously.

Gazing coldly at the man, Ellison stated, "I say we revive the Scarlet Pimpernel. Lucian wants revenge against the hero, and I say bring him down the same way he brought down the agent. Of course, that requires knowledge of who the hero is, as we seem to be in this together." Glancing about the room with an air of authority and supremacy, he coldly stated, "I am hoping that one of you can tell me who the man is. We are all in this together, and his identity is essential to our success."

Fidgeting nervously, Tony hesitated slightly, and with a nod from Percy, stepped forward. "We do know the Pimpernel, Ellison."

Grinning in satisfaction, he quietly stated, "Very good, Lord Dewhurst, but do not speak quite yet. We have traitors among us." The entire room froze, and in a voice colder that ice, he quietly said, "The traitorous snake has told me himself that both Tacey and Tambre Dewhurst, Gilles St. Just, and Allison Ffoulkes are working in his service."

_Do you hate me, Lords of England? I hope so. But your meaningless feelings toward me pale in comparison for the utter loathing I have for you. Be prepared, gentlemen, for mark my word, I will return and bring you suffering like you have never known._

The room was dead silent, and the adults were shaking; it couldn't be so. Swallowing hard, Percy managed to ask, "Children, is this true?"

"No! He's lying!" Tacey cried, firmly holding her ground, but neither Gilles nor Allison could speak.

Sighing heavily, Tambre quietly said, "I cannot speak for Allison or Gilles, but what Ellison says is true of my sister and I."

"Oh God…" Tony slowly sank to the floor. His own beloved daughters had helped create this monster…

"Tambre, what are you saying?" Tacey asked quietly between clenched teeth.

"I am done being used by that boy. The last time I saw him, he had declared me of no further use to him. I don't know what that means, but I imagine that it cannot be anything good. Please, I cannot help you much, but I can help a bit."

Smiling smugly, Ellison quietly ordered, "Have the other three taken away. They are no friends of ours."

"No, wait!" Armand cried. "My son…I can straighten him out! Let him stay!"

"I believe you doubt the persuasive powers of that snake, Armand. Consider your son lost."

"No…"

"Take them away." Without further complaining, the three children were led out of the room by the soldiers that were summoned. "Now," Ellison said quietly, turning to the group, "who is the Pimpernel?"

Sighing heavily, Percy stepped forward, chest held high. "I am."

_Until we meet again,_

_Lucian Chauvelin_

"No way! Dad, you're the Pimpernel?"

"So it would seem, Blake."

"That's really neat!"

"Enough!" The room fell silent, and all eyes turned back to Ellison. "Percy, I trust you will lead us in our battle against this man, but I believe a new Pimpernel is in order. If there is no objection, I will rise to the cause."

"No way, Ellison!" Blake said firmly. "My father was the Pimpernel, so I should be the next one!"

"This is not a title that is to be passed down, boy," Ellison said, growling. "The most qualified man should be. You don't have what it takes. You cannot fight, and you do not have the heart to destroy the foe."

"And you do not have the heart to save him! Where's your sense of compassion, Ellison? Don't you see that Lucian has gone through a lot? He doesn't have to die. This whole thing is one big misunderstanding. If we just talk to him-"

"He would slaughter you. He must die, and I am the one to do it."

"He can live, and I can save him!"

"I shall be the Pimpernel."

"I shall be!"

"Enough!" The two boys were silenced. Percy calmly stated, "Listen, boys. You are both right. Blake, you do not have the fire that you need to do this. But, Ellison, you don't have the mercy that is essential to the role. I propose that you boys share the title. I will lead you and teach you what I know, but for God's sake, neither of you can do this alone."

There was silence, and Blake quietly asked, "We will both be it?"

Frowning in distaste, Ellison asked, "How will that work?"

Percy smiled softly at the two of them. "We will find a way. We always do." Quickly turning and facing the adults, he firmly stated with the fire and resolve that he was so known for, "All of us have been affected by young Chauvelin's actions, but we can make it through this. I will contact the rest of my men and tell them that we have a new threat to face." Smiling triumphantly, the Pimpernel proudly stated, "The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel is needed again, and, by God, we will rise!"


	16. I Must Move On Despite The Pain

AN: I would like to apologize for the ridiculous amount of time that it has taken me to update this thing, but really, I have needed a slight break from this to slightly revamp some of the characters that I have created, primarily Lucian and Ellison, who were in some severe need of therapy and counseling. But they have returned from the health spa, and they are ready to work again. Of course, I have a few other things that I am planning on doing a lot of work on, so don't expect really frequent updates on this thing. Most of my computer time is going to be spent on a few other projects, and the only time I'll really have to work on this is in school. So sorry. But I do have ideas, and they will be getting put down. Anyway, moving on…Oh, and just a quick note. Stupid isn't letting me put in scene breaks in this chapter. So I'm just breaking scenes up with the letter "**_I_**". And Andre and his family are sole property of NightShadow131. I own most of the rest, including Coupeau's sexuality. But the Pimpernel is still not mine, alas. Thank you.

**Soon the Moon Will Smolder**

**Chapter 16: I Must Move On Despite The Pain**

The night was entirely peaceful, the waters calm, the breeze gentle and the air quiet and serene, with the exception of the occasional heave or sob coming from the lone ship on the way to France.

Lucian Chauvelin was seasick.

Pulling himself back over the rail, the boy settled on the deck, head in hands and looking entirely miserable. "Did you know – " the young man slurred, slightly rocking and swallowing the lump in his throat before he resumed his unfocused and sickly prattling to the woman that had taken a liking to the ill young lord. "Did you know that I am the son of the richest man in England? Percy Blakeney. That's his name. Have you heard of him? Percy Blakeney?"

"I have," the woman said, nodding. "Everyone knows him. You're lucky to have him as a father."

She winced as harsh laughter grated over her ears, causing her to shiver slightly. "Oh, I lied," Lucian said quietly, turning bitter, cynical eyes toward her. "He's not my father. I wish, but no. He just raised me." He chuckled almost pitifully and sprawled out on the deck, looked helplessly at the sky. "I never met my father. He's been thoroughly dead since before I was born."

"I'm sorry…"

"No you're not," the young Chauvelin snapped, shooting a falcon-like glare at the woman. "Hell, I'm not. I never even met the man. Can't miss what you never had, right?"

"I…I guess not…"

"You know…" the boy gasped as he lifted himself up and sat opposite and very close to the woman. "You know what I did? Just a few hours ago, I killed a man. _I killed _a man, a member of the Royal Family of England." The woman paled significantly, stared at him in utter horror and disbelief. How could such a man do something like that? "And you know why? For revenge for my father's death. Imagine! I killed, I _murdered_ and innocent man that I have never met before to avenge a man that I have never and will never know."

The girl shifted uncomfortably. "I think I should go…" she said cautiously as she slowly stood up to leave, but the golden eyes flashed and the boy's arm shot out and caught her wrist.

"No, wait, I've just gotten started. Please, sit down. Don't leave me here alone with this." His eyes nearly begged her to stay, and after a moment with no movement from either, the woman slowly sat back down, and nearly sublime gratitude crossed his face.

"I wish I hadn't done it. I want to go home. This isn't what I wanted…" He laughed harshly for a moment before his shoulders began shaking slightly with soft sobbing. "And I can't go back. Not ever, not after what I have done. I'll be scorned forever. I had everything, and I gave it all up for something that no longer exists…"

Lucian fell back on the deck and shuddered slightly as the woman's hand ran gently over his forehead. "As if that wasn't proof enough that I am completely crazy. Here, I am in love with my sister, let that be out in the open. I am going to have to talk to La Cabarrus about that one. The damn Spaniard…"

"You poor man…"

"It's awful, isn't it? I was driven away from a perfect home and the woman I adore above all others by my own folly in the belief that I could gain my dead father's love. God, I am such an idiot…"

The man dissolved into helpless sobbing, turning over and clinging to the woman like she was all he had and for the rest of the trip, he cursed his need to be loved by an entity that simply did not exist.

_**I**_

When the ship had docked early the next morning in Calais, Lucian's desolation in regards to the futile nature of his objectives had been effectively replaced with a grim determination to carry forth as best he could with his plan of action. Whether he liked it or not, all he had and could rely on was the mission that he had taken upon himself, and if he was not completely certain of what it was he needed to do, he would be run over by the men that had been his father's aids; after all, they were used to the firm, commanding presence of the agent. If he did not put forth the same, he would be destroyed.

Any doubts that he still had when he entered the city were immediately destroyed when he came to a magnificent shrine in dedication to the Saint Chauvelin at the heart of the city.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder and clutching his father's sword close to his side, Lucian wandered inside.

He had specifically remembered seeing something of this same design in books that he had read about ancient Greece and Rome. Tall, splendid pillars of alabaster lined the pathway from the central doors up to the front where there was something of an alter of marble and gold, a vision that rivaled even the greatest cathedrals in England.

The long hallway was nearly silent, save for the hushed whispers of the people gathered within. Despite how lightly he tried to walk, each step seemed to shake the peace of this sacred place, and for a moment, he wished that he hadn't come. Taking a deep breath, Lucian resolved himself and went forth, trying hard to ignore the stares that followed him, but failing horribly, instantly becoming uneasy under the occasional curious looks of those he passed.

He paused for a moment, looking around at the walls and taking in the intricate carvings on the walls depicting major events of the Revolution – really more of a glorification of the Republic then of the agent – before he slowly approached a priest standing before the alter, carefully cleaning a glass case that held a silver chalice. Leaning in closer to get a better look, Lucian quietly asked, "What's in there?"

"It holds the earth on which the Saint's blood was spilt," the man replied quietly, smiling softly as he watched the boy's expression change from curiosity to shock and adoration. "You are new to France."

Absentminded nodding. "This is where he died?"

"The exact place."

Lucian fell to his knees, gently running his hand over the glass, leaving streaks on the newly cleaned surface, making the priest sigh in mild frustration. The Scarlet Pimpernel struck down his father right on this spot. Never before had he felt so close to the man that fathered him, and just in that moment, it was almost as though he had met the esteemed agent. Almost… "I will destroy him, father, I swear it…"

For a moment, the boy hardly moved, just knelt silent on the place where his father's noble blood had fallen, that same blood that ran through his son's veins now. "He is buried in Paris, correct?" The man nodded, and after a few more moments of silence in respect for his father, Lucian slowly stood and looked the man square in the eye, noticing as the man suddenly trembled in a sort of fear, and quietly asked, "How do I get to Paris?"

Trembling, the man pointed toward the door, unsteadily whispering, "Go through the south gate, someone will take you."

"Thank you." With a final quick glance toward the place his father died upon, running his hand over the letters upon his chest and praying quietly for a moment, Lucian left the building and headed toward the south gate to get to Paris.

The priest ran off to spread the word that Chauvelin had returned to the people.

_**I**_

Andre Madeline tapped his pencil against the desk, head leaning against his hand and sighing in boredom. Everyday it was the same thing: soldiers come in, soldiers argue on Napoleon's behalf for access to Armand Chauvelin's will-protected fortune, soldiers leave disappointed. Before, Andre had been a bit intimidated by the goliath of a man and the conniving little thing that were sent to procure the rights to Chauvelin's will. But now, they were getting lazy.

As Andre soon found out, the soldiers didn't really want those rights.

"Chauvelin's will, Madeline," the large soldier growled, slamming his hands down on the desk. "Hand it over."

"I am afraid that is impossible," Andre sighed, leaning back slightly from the man.

"Alright." Without wasting a second, the man plunked down in a chair opposite the lawyer. "How are you, Andre?"

"Is it time for our social visit already, Mercier?" Andre asked, looking at his watch in confusion. "You're supposed to yell at me for another half hour."

"Yes, well, what's the point? You and I are both on the same side."

"I suppose so…"

Andre instantly froze, the hairs on his neck raising as firm hands clamped down on his arms and a soft tenor purred in his ear, "Hello, Andre…"

With a cry, Andre bolted out of the room and, softly chuckling, Coupeau sat down next to Mercier. "Oh, he's a silly little thing, isn't he?"

"You are really creepy, do you know that?"

"Stop doing that!" Andre whimpered, walking back into the room, and settling uneasily back into his chair, carefully avoiding the intense gaze of the auburn-haired man. "You just pop out of nowhere…"

"Rather like a gust of queer wind, isn't he?" Mercier remarked dryly.

"Oh, thank you, Mercier," Coupeau purred, laying his hand upon the man's shoulder. Eyes lighting up suddenly, he turned to the lawyer and chirped, "How's your wife?"

"Oh, Helena's fine," Andre said timidly, blushing slightly and swelling with pride. "She raised hell about our last dinner guests, but I think she is over that now."

"And how did she look in that dress that I picked out for her?" the little man asked excitedly, leaning in.

He sighed, fidgeting slightly. "As much as I hate to say it, you did good, Coupeau. She was ravishing."

"And how are babies one through four?" Mercier asked the blushing man as he held still the other soldier who was bubbling over in glee.

"My daughters have names, Mercier, and you know it," Andre said sternly.

"Sir?" The three men looked up to see Andre's secretary standing in the doorway, completely gray and shaking. "A man here to see you, sir. Her wants to talk to you about the will…"

"Oh, that treacherous snake…" Mercier growled. "Napoleon's ousting us, damn it! This is my job to neglect!" He stood up quickly and glared at the poor trembling secretary, only making things worse for the young boy. "You tell that little piss-ant that Andre's already being harassed and we are perfectly capable."

"Perfectly capable," Coupeau agreed, nodding. "Even if we're doing a rotten job, we are still perfectly capable."

"Alright, have him wait, will you?" Andre said tiredly, running his hand over his face. It was almost five, and he should be getting home… "Tell him I'll be with him in a moment."

The secretary nodded and closed the door as he left. "I bet you Chauvelin's absolutely loving this," Mercier said, leaning back in the chair and placing his boots upon the desk, much to Andre's annoyance. "Really, the havoc that his bloody will is causing everyone is probably making him giddy."

"You know what else is probably making him laugh at you?" Coupeau asked quietly, leaning in close to the bigger man and purring seductively. "I have his hat…"

"Oh, you bastard."

There was a brief scuffling from outside the door, Andre's secretary pleading pitifully just before the door swung open and slammed shut, a new occupant standing within the room, gold eyes scanning the three shocked faces, his features devoid of any emotion. "Are you Andre Madeline?" he said sternly, pointing toward the lawyer.

Andre began panicking.

Lucian was really quite confused, and frankly, a bit aggravated. The French were really much more flighty then the English, much to his surprise. Everywhere he went, he was met with strange stares and hushed whispering, and it was starting to irritate him. A society of cowards could not have produced such a man as his father. "Are all you French like this?" he asked, irritated.

"Hardly," Mercier responded, examining his fingernails. "Andre just doesn't have much of a spine." Looking toward the rather flighty and excited Coupeau, he added, "And Coupeau's a queer."

"You're Andre?" the boy asked, ignoring the two soldiers as he stood between them and placed his hand upon the desk, leaning in toward the lawyer. He nodded. "I am Lucian Chauvelin, and I believe that my father left something for me."

There was dead silence in the room for a moment before Coupeau got up and dashed out the door, slamming it behind him. "That's not possible," Andre squeaked, staring into those pale yellow eyes that intimidated him so much in his youth.

Lucian reeled back, looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"You can't be Chauvelin's son. He never got married, he can't have children."

Mercier nearly choked, looked at the lawyer in sudden contempt. "Are you an idiot, Madeline?" the man sneered. "Can't have a bastard? Think about what you say before you speak, moron."

"But…I…"

"Look," Mercier stated plainly, leaning in toward the lawyer and ignoring the flustered golden-eyed boy, "men take women to their beds out of wedlock all the time. The seed doesn't wait for marriage to plant itself, and you know that. Some son of a doctor."

He eyed the lawyer intently, making sure that the man was thoroughly red and shifting uncomfortably before he turned toward a very irritated young man. "It's been a while, Lucian. To what do we owe this honor?"

"I…" Stopping for a moment, breathing heavily – the soldier remembered him? – and composing himself, he looked firm and hard at the man. "I've come to take over the place of my father."

"Then I regret to inform you that you are wasting your time," the soldier sighed, leaning back in his chair. "There is no place in today's world for people like your father, boy. Get your money and go back home."

"This is my home," Lucian stated, his once firm voice quivering with uncertainty, and he wasn't helped by the hollow laugh from the soldier.

"If I remember correctly, you've never been to France. How can you claim to have any ties to this country?"

"My father-"

"You're father's dead, boy, he's a pretty weak card to be played by his friends, let alone his bastard that he never knew about and never wanted."

"Mercier, please," Andre pleaded, feeling suddenly extremely sorry for the small, hurt thing that stood in his office, "he's just a boy…"

"Shut up, Andre." He did so quite quickly, staring at the desk apologetically, a look that was meant for the boy had he been able to look at him. Mercier stood up and came before the young Chauvelin, glaring down at the suddenly frightened gold eyes. "As much as you wish, you are not your father. Go back to your mother and go home to England."

Lucian was terrified and extremely hurt, trembling in complete helplessness as the soldier sat back down. He was actually compelled to turn and leave, go back to the home that he had grown up in and apologize for his folly, try to make amends that he knew could never be fixed. After all, the person that his father had been close to had just rejected him…

Just as he was about to turn and leave, a violent anger rooted him to the spot. "I'll have you know," he said calmly, smoothly, unknowingly sounding so much like his father that it caught the soldier's attention instantly and made the lawyer quiver, "that my mother isn't here, and I can't go back to England, even if I wanted to. So I'm stuck here with you."

"You're stuck here, not with me," the man said impassively, glaring back at the young man with an air of confidence, looking much more sure of himself then he really was.

"Not so, Citizen. I have a plan and the methods to go about accomplishing what I want, and I will not stop until I have done what I have set out to do, and you just so happen to figure into my schemes. You have no choice."

The boy stood completely still, glaring viciously and coldly into the equally icy blue of the soldier. Before anyone knew what was happening, the black blade of Chauvelin's sword was at a shocked Mercier's neck, the tip lightly pressing against his throat. "I may not be my father, sir," the boy purred, leaning in closer to the man, pressing slightly harder with the blade to make his point, "but so help me God, you will serve me as you did him."

The lawyer couldn't move he was so frightened, and Mercier could do nothing but gape, taking no notice to the light trickle of blood that ran down his throat as he stared into those cold golden eyes that looked so much like those of the man that once fearlessly led him.

The fact of the matter was that Mercier and Coupeau were lost without Chauvelin. Both men were rendered useless when the agent had been struck down, leaving the two men to wander aimlessly without the direction that Chauvelin had provided them with. Coupeau had managed to make due, clinging to Mercier the same way that he had clung to Chauvelin, depending upon the bigger man to protect him from a world that he was too weak to defend against on his own.

Mercier had not been quite so fortunate as the little soldier. He had looked to Chauvelin for direction and orders. Without him, he merely sat idle, a cynical observer of the world rather than part of it. He often contemplated suicide, but could never bring himself to do it, knowing that Coupeau clung to him to survive. In a similar fashion, he clung to Coupeau in the same way. He joined up with Napoleon to keep them safe, not because he believed in that cause. He believed in the France that Chauvelin saw, and that vision was lost. But if this child was anything like his father, and he was proving to be so much like the leader and friend that he had lost so long ago…

"What will you have me do, Chauvelin?"

Sighing in relief, Lucian dropped the weapon and sat in a chair next to the soldier just as Coupeau ran back in to the room and dropped a tricorner hat upon the young man's head and swiftly kissed his cheek. "Welcome home, my friend." Smiling softly, the auburn-haired man sat upon Andre's desk, crossing his legs and leaning in toward the vision of his friend that sat before him, taking special care to ignore the vicious glare that Mercier was shooting at him.

"You bastard," the man growled, taking a firm grip on the little soldier's hair. "I wanted that hat, and you knew it! All this time, I could have had it, but no, the queer kept it."

"Yes!"

"Just die. Really, just keel over."

"You don't mean that, Mercier," the man stated plainly to the man, removing the hand from his hair and turning toward the young Chauvelin. "So, what are we going to do with you?"

"Well, I was hoping that-"

"Look, boy, it's getting late," Mercier said, standing up and pulling Coupeau off the desk. Andre took out his watch and instantly started to panic, hurriedly packing his things and fretting over how angry his wife would be that he was late for dinner. "How's this: we'll sort all your affairs over the week, but for now, I'm thinking that you need to rest. No doubt you had a long trip."

"Helena is going to be so angry with me!" Andre whimpered, struggling with his briefcase, his haste only slowing him down. He stopped suddenly as the young man's elegant hand extended before him. Staring at it for a moment, he cautiously took it.

"I really didn't introduce myself properly. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Lucian Chauvelin."

"Andre Madeline," the man said slowly. "It's…unexpected to know that you exist, sir…"

"Yes, well, I look forward to getting the chance to know you," Lucian said cheerfully, thrusting his bag into the confused Andre's arms. "Come along."

"Wait, what's this?"

"My bags!"

"Your…but…I don't understand."

"I need a place to stay, Madeline," the man said impassively, packing the rest of Andre's briefcase and handing that to the lawyer also. "So I've decided to allow you to let me stay with you!"

"Wha-? No, you can't-"

"Come along now, Andre!" the man called, marching out of the door.

"Wait!" the timid lawyer called after the boy, but he didn't come back. He was just alone in the room with two helplessly laughing soldiers. "Oh dear…Helena is not going to like this…"

Mercier and Coupeau had settled on walking Andre at least part of the way home, as they were headed for dinner in that direction anyway. The silence that the Frenchmen walked in did not last for very long, as the walk back to Andre's home passed right by the monument that served as Chauvelin's resting place, and the boy instantly stopped to stare. "That's were my father is buried, right?" he asked quietly, instantly earning the sympathies of Andre and Coupeau.

"Yes, that's right," Coupeau said quietly, standing beside the boy. "It's amazing how quickly they got that thing up. Robespierre insisted that it get built as quickly as possible."

"He really was a great man, wasn't he?"

"He was, but not in the way that you have heard of him, I can assure you," Mercier stated plainly, making the boy stare at the exceptionally tall man in shock. "The stories going around now are for the most part complete fabrication. He was no saint, just a man out to do the best he could for a cause he believed in."

"That's not true!" Lucian cried, suddenly angry.

"Listen, boy, you know the stories, not the man. Things get twisted. He was just a man, really no better than any other. A hero in his own right, but not in the way that the stories say. If you want the truth, he died insane."

He tried to respond, but couldn't find the words he wanted, but finally managed on whispering, "Really?"

"Yes, really. Anyhow, this is where Coupeau and I leave. We will take you around tomorrow. Get home and rest, alright? We can sort out all the legal issues tomorrow." He turned to leave, hesitated, turned back around. "I should like you to meet my son. He needs something to do, and I will not have him fight for Napoleon like I do. I'd like to keep this one safe. He's able, might have some use to you."

"You have a son?" Lucian asked quietly, looking at the man in respect.

"I do. Named him after your father too. I think you'll like him. I'll see you tomorrow, Chauvelin."

He hesitated for a moment as he watched the two soldiers start to walk away, but quickly called after them, waiting for them to turn back before he quietly asked, "Will you tell me about my father?"

Smiling softly, the auburn-haired man patted his head. "Of course."

"Anything you like, boy."

"Thank you." Nodding the two men walked away, and Lucian quietly followed Andre when the lawyer tugged at his arm to follow. They walked on quietly only briefly before the golden-eyed boy quietly asked, "Did you know my father, Andre?"

"Yes, I did," the lawyer sighed. This day had been far too long… "Not well, but I did know him. I was his secretary for a few years before he died. To be honest, I was really too scared of him to get to know him all that well. He was a very intimidating man."

"You were not there when he died, right?"

"Right. I was visiting my parents when he was killed. Mercier and Coupeau maintain that he briefly went insane before he died, but I did not see that either."

"Were you sad about it?"

Andre stopped, seriously considered this for a moment. "I suppose a little. It was really more shock than anything else. I went away for a week, and when I came back, this strong, powerful man was suddenly gone. It was a bit hard to grasp at the time. Really, it was very hard to come to terms with. I thought I'd see him again."

"I think you're very lucky to have known him, Andre," Lucian said quietly, looking at the lawyer with slight admiration.

"Yes, I think so too," the man said softly, smiling a bit.

The rest of the walk was a comfortable silence between the two, and for a while, everything was right in the world and peaceful. Andre even managed to forget how angry Helena was going to be.

He quickly remembered when he came in the door.

"You want to scare me to death like that again, Andre?" the beautiful woman shouted at the timid man. "If you know you are going to be late, send a note! Tell me you're going to be late!"

"Helena," Andre said nervously, shifting from foot to foot, "I'm sorry. Really, I am, but I didn't know that I would be so late, and-"

"Well, the girls are all seated for dinner and they want their father. 'Where's Daddy?' they ask me. I had to tell them that your work is more important then your children."

Andre's face dropped. "You didn't…"

"No, I didn't," the woman said, suddenly light-hearted as she flung her arms around her husband's neck. "Come now, dinner is ready." And then Helena noticed the blonde boy standing at the door. "Andre…" she asked cautiously, pulling herself closer to the man, "who is that?"

"Oh, Helena, about him…"

Lucian didn't wait for an introduction of an explanation. Without another moment, he bowed slightly to the woman. "My name is Lucian, Madame, and I will be staying with you for a while."

"Oh, is that so?" Helena asked quietly, pulling away from Andre and standing before the boy. "And for how long would that be?"

"Indefinitely."

"Ah." Quickly reeling on Andre, she snapped, "You didn't tell me we were having a permanent guest, Andre!"

"Believe me, love, I didn't know until today."

"Oh the nerve…" Turning back toward the boy, she looked him over suspiciously before sauntering over toward the boy, coyly purring, "Well, aren't you a cute little thing…"

Andre was shocked, stared at his wife in surprise. "Helena, what are you…"

_Slap!_

"Have I told you that I love you?" Andre asked, staring at his furious wife in adoration.

"Get out of my house, you!" Helena yelled at the stunned boy, right before the boy went so cold the room froze, and Helena's anger quickly disappeared, scooting as close to Andre as she could.

"I think, Madame, that you have made a rather grave error," the boy purred, slowly sauntering toward the suddenly frightened couple. "Andre, if you don't want me dealing with your wife personally, I highly suggest that you keep that woman in control."

"Helena, can I have a word with you for a moment?" Andre whispered, tugging her toward the next room, the woman following without question. When he was sure the young Terrorist couldn't hear them, he quietly said, "Helena, please, listen to me."

"Andre, what are you doing letting someone like that into our home?" the woman asked, enraged and quite a bit frightened.

"Helena, please, he's just a boy, and he has nowhere to stay, and-"

"And did you feel that in there, Andre? Something isn't right about him."

"I know, but we can't just kick him out…"

"Oh? Watch me," the woman stated, walking back toward where the boy was, but Andre grabbed hold of her arm before she had a chance.

"Look, Helena, let him stay for a little while. We have the room, and he probably won't be here much anyway. It sounded like he had things to do. Please, Helena, we would be poor Christians to throw a child out."

She considered this for a moment, stared at her husband coldly before she sighed, hung her head. "Alright, for now, he can stay. But you listen to me, Andre," she said firmly, jabbing her finger into his chest, "I want him out of here as soon as it can be arranged. I don't like him, and I don't trust him at all. There's something sinister about that boy that I don't like, and don't you dare argue with me about that, Andre."

"Of course not, Helena."

"Good. I'll go get the guest room ready. Watch him, will you?"

"Of course.

Helena sighed, stopping just before she left. "You're a good man, Andre, and I love you to death, but I am getting the feeling that we are doing something that isn't right."

Without another word, she left to get the room ready, leaving a very confused Andre to return to his charge.


End file.
